


Always in My Heart

by Sia345



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon Compliant, Explicit in the later chapters, F/M, Love Triangles, Picks up at 6x03, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sia345/pseuds/Sia345
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow would like to avoid Sansa Stark for the rest of his life. Unfortunately avoiding her is hard when fate has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote one tiny short piece before. You can say this is kind of my first fan fiction. I am open for any constructive criticism so I can improve but please be nice. 
> 
> This fic is loosely based on the books and the show. I have a obsession with sad, tragic ending. I am not sure if that is where I will go with this.

 

 

_Melisandre sat on the edge of her bed staring at the dancing flames. LIES, they told her lies. She wanted to ignore the flames. At least for tonight. They kept calling out to her, beckoning her to do their bid.  Everything she believed, the great victory she saw— it was all a lie. Now Stannis was dead. The night was dark and full of terror, and the Lord of light did not cast his light upon her. He left her in the dark… He let her misguide people, he let her lead them to their deaths. Now he wants her to do it again._

_She looked up at the man sitting on the edge of the table, the flames reflected in the corner of her eyes. He was waiting for her to say something._

_“Lord Snow—I, ” she swallowed. She didn’t have the courage to send him to his death as well. However, the Lord of Light would have his way. He wanted this! She gathered what is left of her courage. “When I looked into the flames I saw a girl crying out your name.”_

_Jon looked at her suspiciously and then met the eyes of the other red haired woman in the room._

_Ygritte narrowed her wide set eyes, “What did you see this time? Is Jon our new savior” Melissandre did not turn to face the woman. She ignored her jabs. “We don’t believe your fucking flames lady. Not after what happened to Stannis.”_

_Melissandre looked at Jon Snow with pleading eyes. He didn’t believe her either, but he was kind enough to not mock her. “This girl I saw, she was in pain. Pain you can’t imagine. I did not know who she was at first. Then I saw Ramsay Bolton force himself on her. He hurt her— terribly.” The girl’s cries rang in her head.” As he was hurting her, he called her by her name— Sansa.”_

_She watched Jon’s body slowly stiffen. He was no longer sitting at the edge of the table. Ygritte took a note of the change. When he didn’t speak, she spoke “Sansa?”_

_“My half-sister," he whispered._

_“I don’t know why this is important to the Lord of Light, but he wants you to save her from Ramsay Bolton."_

_There was a moment of silence before Ygritte spoke, “You can tell your Lord of Light to fuck himself. You told Stannis he would win, where is he? Defeated and killed by Ramsay Bolton. Now you want Jon Snow to fight the man Stannis and his army could not defeat?” Ygritte looked at Jon Snow. “He won’t kill himself by doing something so foolish.”_

 

_Later that night Ygritte joined him under the furs. She tried to stay away, but not tonight. He was too distracted by the Red woman’s word to even notice, or care._

_“Stop thinking about that Witch. She is just lying again.” Ygritte grumbled._

_“I am not thinking about her. I am thinking about Sansa.”_

_“Don’t think about her either.” There was a bitter edge to her voice that took her by surprise._

_“I have to save her.”_

_“You won’t save her. We have no men to go rescue some precious lady who can’t defend herself against her own husband. You will just get yourself killed. Stay here. We need you here. I need you here.”_

_It was as if he did not hear her or her words no longer mattered to him. “Sansa needs me.”_

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Present Day**

 

 

“I don’t like Robb’s sister”

Ygritte’s abrupt confession momentarily stunned Jon. He opened his eyes and turned on his side to face her. His eyes narrowed “Why?”

Her shoulders rose slightly.  “Just don’t. You can call it an intuition I guess… She rubs me the wrong way.”

“But you just met her.”

Ygritte looked at him irritably for stating the obvious. “Yes I know but I don’t like her.” She took a moment before speaking again, “I think she is trying to show off how well she knows Margaery. She pretty much turned down all my suggestions for the wedding so far. And Margaery?” Ygritte snorted in contempt that both amused and scared Jon at the same time. “Oh Sansa is perfect. Sansa knows best. Look at this beautiful dress she made.  You should try Sansa’s lemon cake sometimes. It is to die for. Sansa knows flowers, Sansa knows cake, Sansa knows music”  Ygritte rolled her eyes. “I swear we spent half the day just praising the girl.”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh at Ygritte’s Margaery impression. At that moment she reminded him of Arya. Years ago Arya had similar complaints, only she would mimic her mother. He understood where the resentment came from. Still, he did not want Ygritte to suffer the same way Arya did. “Don’t tell me you are jealous. How are you going to survive the next two months of this crazy wedding planning?”

She glared at him “I am not jealous of her. I am just – irritated. I get it. She is her best friend from back in the days. I just think she should get it through her pretty little head that Margaery has other friends now.”

Jon wrapped his arm around her small waist so he could pull her closer. “Don’t be jealous” he softly growled in her hair.

“I am not jealous” Ygritte tried to push him away, but he was unfortunately too strong even for her. So she was stuck in his arms.

“It’s okay you know. Even I am a bit jealous.” Jon grinned. “I wish it was me you two were fighting over. I have never seen you fight over me.”

Ygritte jabbed him in his ribs with her pointy elbow, causing him to groan. “Jon Snow I will kill you if that day ever comes.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“It’s like she has no flaws.” Ygritte grumbled.

Talking about Sansa had become a new routine that Jon could do without. He wished Ygritte would not bring her up in their bed every night, especially not after they just had sex.

During the day, work kept both of them busy and out of each other's way. It was only in bed at night when they could talk about their days before falling asleep. Ever since Sansa Stark came into town all their conversations have been about her. Jon was starting to hate this.

“She has plenty of flaws.” Jon assured her.

“First it was Margaery, now it is Gilly. She takes her side over mine. Sam should be worried. If I didn’t know better I would think Gilly is in love with her. You should see the way Gilly looks at her. Like she is perfect”

Jon scoffed, “no one is perfect Ygritte. _Especially not her_. She has plenty of flaws.”

That piqued her interest. “Really? Like what?”

“I don’t know…”  _People have flaws. What is he supposed to do list them?_  He does not want to think about Sansa Stark.

“You grew up with her! You can’t even think of a single flaw in that girl?” She huffed.

“She sucked at math.” His answer was terrible. He did not have to watch Ygritte roll her eyes to know that. “Ygritte...” Jon rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling a dull ache in his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say babe. You never get annoyed with other girls like this.”

Ygritte took in a deep breath. She sat up facing him, not bothering to pull the sheet to cover her pale breasts. “I don’t know what it is Jon. I can’t describe this feeling. It’s like— she— I see her and I feel inadequate.” He watched her struggle with the words.

“I never compare myself to girls, you know that. But I see her and immediately I feel as if she is everything I could never be.”

“Why?” Jon snapped. “You always avoid girls like Sansa. You don’t want to be like them. So why is this bothering you?” He wanted to sleep. He wanted to drop this conversation. He wanted to have his cool girlfriend back who didn’t feel insecure by girls like Sansa Stark.

“I feel like she has something I want. I don’t even know what it is that I could possibly want from her.” Ygritte smiled at him sadly. “I don’t even know what it is that she has that I want so desperately, but it is a feeling I can’t shake off.”

Jon sighed. “Sansa Stark is one of the most superficial, not to mention shallow girl I had ever known. She doesn’t have anything that you would want.”

“Yeah.” Ygritte snorted. “Beautiful girls like her are allowed to be shallow and superficial.”

He never found Sansa Stark to be beautiful. She was pretty, yes but not beautiful. Beautiful was something else. Jon always stayed away from beautiful woman. They made him feel uncomfortable but not for the reasons Sansa Stark made him feel uncomfortable. He was certain that beautiful was not something he would associate with Sansa Stark. “She was spoiled, had everything handed to her. You on the other hand have worked for everything you have. How can she ever make you feel inadequate?”

“She is so good at everything it seems” Ygritte whined.

Jon sat up in front of her. “She is good at things that don’t matter. You know why I talk so much about the others, but not her? It’s because I couldn’t stand her growing up. I always felt she was somewhat of a coward. She rarely stood up for anyone, not even herself.”  _How many times did he see Joffrey be a total ass to her?_  She never said anything against him and when Jon tried to stand up for her instead of being grateful she would tell him to mind his own business.  Once he saw her get out of Joffrey’s car at school. He knew she had been crying and there was a fresh bruise on her lip. That night he told Robb and Ned. This had to stop. When they called her to ask her about it she acted horrified. She made some sorry excuse about volleyball. The worst part was, she told them he was lying because he was jealous of Joffrey. Jon was mortified. Since that day on Jon had pretended Sansa Stark did not exist even though they lived in the same house. Fortunately, it was the last year of school. He never went back to that house after he graduated, and he never thought of Sansa Stark either. Nine years had passed since he last saw her, and he still had no desire to see her.

“People, actually her friends used to bully Arya right in front of her. She was always afraid to say something. You on the other hand are one of the bravest people I have ever known.” Jon’s long fingers curled around her bony wrist as he tugged her closer. “So stop letting this girl make you feel this way. You are everything Sansa Stark could never be.”

“Jon, I know this sounds pathetic, but this is the happiest I have felt all week.” Ygritte beamed.

Jon chuckled. He pulled her closer to place a kiss on her brow. “She is also awfully boring you know. She is like the antithesis of anything truly fun.” It was true. Many of his fun memories with the Stark kids were somehow tainted by Sansa. She often used to get them in trouble by telling on them. Always too busy being the perfect girl in her mother’s eyes than have fun with them.

“You can stop badmouthing her now. I feel better.”

“Are you sure?” Jon asked in jest. “I can go on…”

Ygritte shook her. “In fact I am feeling more than better right now. I am feeling quite turned on to be honest.”

“Are you now?” Jon brushed his lips against hers. “we are going to have to something about that before I fall asleep.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It has to be here somewhere” Ygritte scanned the small shop for the dress she had seen a day ago.

“Maybe they sold it.” Jon glanced around the shabby boutique, trying not to sneeze. He wondered when was the last time someone cleaned this place. Clothes of different colors and patterns were scattered all over the place. Some not even on a rack. Whoever ran this place cared little about organization. No one in their right mind would shop in a place like this, other than his crazy girlfriend apparently. “You weren’t kidding when you said this place is small.”

“Yeah we were joking around yesterday that it’s smaller than Margaery’s closet.” Ygritte was carefully going through the racks. “Where can this damn dress be? And why is that lady hiding? I could steal all of these dresses and she wouldn’t even know.”

“Just pick another one.” Jon suggested.

Ygritte shot Jon a look and he shrugged. “Jon I told you—I”

“Yeah, yeah. No one would look at anyone else if you had that dress.” Jon smiled. He was certain this had something to do with Sansa as well. Ygritte had spent years beside Margaery and Gilly, and never once did she want to outshine them. He walked over to help Ygritte look through the rack. “Why do you want them to look at you anyways? I will look at you even if you were wearing a sack.” Jon teased.

“You are not as funny as you think you are.”

Ygritte spotted something by the fitting room. “What is it doing over there?”

She walked over to the corner of the store and grabbed a long silver gown from the rack. It was the only item on the rack. She brought it over to Jon and held it in front of her so he could picture her in the gown. “This is the one! What do you think?” She asked breathlessly.

“Would make you look like the ice queen.” Jon smirked

Ygritte wasn’t listening. She was busy running her hand over the delicate fabric of the dress. The gown had a high neck and long sleeves with an open back. The top half was made of light chiffon. The hand stitched flowers and small grey pearls spread over the front of the gown and parts of the sleeves. Ygritte had been right. The dress was indeed one of a kind. Jon Snow could kind of see why she had fallen in love with the dress.

“Let’s get it and go.” Jon waited a moment before adding. “I am starving.”

Ygritte looked at him and blinked in confusion. It seemed as if she was trying to remember what he had said. “Yeah. We will go. You sure you don’t want to see me in the dress first?”

“No,” his face broke out into a grin. “I might want to tear the dress off.”

“If you tear my pretty dress, I will give you a black eye.” It was a joke, but clearly she did not think so.

“We will see. Now let’s pay. We can even steal the dress.” Jon suggested playfully. “Look no one is here.”

“Shut up Jon Snow. Press that bell at the counter. She is probably in the back somewhere…”

A moment after Jon pressed the bell, the door in the corner of the shop opened. An older lady stepped out “I will be right there.” She smiled politely.

Her eyes widened as her glance moved from Ygritte to Jon. He did not know why, but it made him extremely uncomfortable— _nervous_ even. She was just an old lady, probably a very peculiar old lady if her current dress is anything to go by. Jon was certain he has never met her before, but still she seemed familiar. When she finally made it to the counter, Ygritte wasted no time lifting the dress. “I am getting this.”

The lady’s lips parted in shock. “Where did you find—I know where you found it. I am sorry miss. Someone else has chosen that dress. You grabbed it from her rack.”

“Has she bought it yet?” Ygritte asked bluntly.

“No. She hasn’t but it is he—“

Ygritte interrupted. “Then it is not hers yet. I grabbed it from _your_ shop, a visible rack with no signs. This dress is mine.”

“I put it on the rack outside of the fitting room because I had no place to put it. I did not think someone would come and take it. She already tried it on.” The lady explained.

“I am sorry. That is none of our concern. I saw the dress and I liked it. Now I would like to purchase it. Give her another one”

 “There is no _other_ one.” She said with a fierce glare. “That is the only dress I have of that kind. Perhaps I could make you another one, if you give me some time.”

“We are flying out of town in two days for our best friend’s wedding. We don’t have time.” He looked at Ygritte who was clutching the dress so hard her knuckles seemed even paler than usual. She did not care for pretty dresses, but this one meant something to her. And Ygritte meant a lot to Jon. “I will give you double the price of the dress.” Jon said

Ygritte’s eyes widened. “Jon! No! I told you the dress was already out of my budget to begin with.”

He ignored her protest and waited for the woman to reply. She was considering his offer. For such craftsmanship, the dress had to be quite a bit. Jon would pay her twice the amount.

“I don’t care about your money. I promised this dress to another lovely lady and it is hers.” Her thin lips curled into a mocking smile.

 _Damn the lady and her dress_ he wanted to say. “Let us talk to her at least. Maybe this other buyer won’t mind if we explain it to her”

The older woman thought for a moment and then nodded. She strolled back to the dressing room, after a knock the door opened and she went in.

Jon turned to Ygritte. “Who even comes this early in a Saturday morning to buy a freaking dress?” Jon pulled her into his arm. “We will get it for you babe.”

“What if the lady says no.”

“It’s just a fucking dress. How much could she possibly love it? If the lady says no I will offer to buy her a dress as well. We will buy her the whole boutique.” Jon gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. He still hated using the money his father left him, but he was starting to rely on it more and more to get out of unwanted situations.

“Must be nice to have so much money all of a sudden… I wish—“ Ygritte looked over his shoulder. “Sansa?”

Jon felt his stomach drop.  _His Sansa Stark?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We negotiate

 

 

Sansa would have bought the dress yesterday if the sales lady had been willing to sell it to her. Unfortunately, she was told if she wanted to buy the dress she would have to do so from the shop owner. Though Sansa found that just a bit inconvenient, she was more than happy to oblige. She actually wanted to meet the creator of such an exquisite garment. She was on her way to another dress shop with Margaery, Ygritte and Gilly when they passed by the boutique. Sansa felt an odd tugging sensation in her heart when she saw the dress by the window. Over the years many beautiful dresses in display windows have caught her eyes. Sansa would be a liar if she said this was the first dress she fell in love with. Still, this was different. It felt as if the dress had a voice of its own, and from far away it was calling out to her.

The sales lady, Selyse did warn her not to get her hopes up. Many customers before her had offered to buy the dress, many offered outrageous sums of money, but the dress never moved anywhere from that black mannequin. It was on sale, at the same time it was not being sold. The owner, Lady Melisandre refused to sell the garment. When customers asked why she refused to sell the piece, she told them she was looking for the  _one_. Selyse thought that was bunch of lies. According to her, the miserable old lady simply had no intention of selling the dress to anyone. She just wanted to show off her only good work in a shop full of crap. Sansa still wanted to take the chance. Even if the lady decided not to sell to her, she would at least get to meet her. Sansa also made dresses for a living. A part of Sansa hoped they would make a connection over that and it would persuade her to sell the dress to her.

Sansa was surprised when Lady Melisandre agreed to sell her the dress. She did not even ask any questions. When Sansa told her why she was there she assessed her for a moment, and then said okay.

Sansa blinked, “really?”

“Yes,” she tilted her head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well it’s just your sales lady told me yesterday that you refused to sell this dress. She said— never mind all of that. ” Sansa shrugged.

“What else did she say?”

Sansa chose her words carefully, not wanting to create any unnecessary drama for the sales lady “well…she said you were looking for the one.”

The lady took a moment before replying, “I had this dress for years my child. Worked on it. Protected it. You might think it’s just a dress but it is not to me. I had to make sure I was selling it to its rightful owner.”

Sansa pulled the chain strap of her shoulder bag closer to her body. From Lady Melisandre’s appearance to her words everything spooked Sansa. Margaery had been right about this being a terrible idea, this lady was mad for thinking so highly of a dress, but—wasn’t Sansa feeling the same way? She felt as if this dress had belonged to her once upon a time, and she had lost it.

“You should try the dress on. I need to see what alterations I need to make.” The hem of her skirt dragged over the floor as she walked over to the dress. For a moment Sansa wondered if someone dressed like Lady Melisandre could create something beautiful like that. _Maybe she stole the dress! Why would she keep the dress for so long, if she stole it_.

Lady Melisandre carefully took the dress of the mannequin. She touched the dress reverently as if it was not a dress but a precious relic. Maybe it was that. Sansa felt a little guilty for taking the dress away from her. It’s just a dress, you can still walk away.

“Come child.” She opened the door to the fitting room. It was surprisingly larger than she expected, almost half the size of her shop.  The fitting room resembled the rest of the place. There were clothes hanging on the door, a garment or two were left on the little bench as well as the chair inside. Clearly no one had bothered to put things away. “Ready?”

Sansa took in a long breath and smiled. It was just a dress. She should not be so nervous to try on a dress. Lady Melisandre must’ve noticed. “Let’s chat for a bit. We will try the dress later. I don’t often get to chat with my customers. You are not in a hurry, are you?”

Sansa shook her head and smiled, “I would like a chat.”

Melisandre looked around the room to find a proper place to hang the dress. When she found none, she went out of the room and hung the dress outside on a rack and then returned. She removed the clothes from the bench and dumped them outside. “Sit” she gestured to the bench while sitting herself on the chair.

“Have you been here long Lady Melisandre?”

“Forever it seems.” She replied, her tone clipped.

 _Of course_ Sansa thought. Odd, vague replies was probably all she would get from this eccentric old woman dressed in a long sleeved black gown in a hot summer day. It almost looked like someone dropped her here from another age. “Are you originally from here?”

“No. I am not.”

“Where are you from?” Sansa queried.

She took a moment before replying. “From a place far away,” she smiled.

Sansa wanted to ask where. She figured the question will only get her more vague replies. “Why are you selling me this dress? Why do you think I am— _the one_? ”

Lady Melisandre considered her question for a moment before turning her head to look over her shoulder. She was noting Sansa’s reflection in the mirror. “I had a picture in my head. A picture of what the owner of this dress would look like. She looked like you. With a face like yours, with hair red like yours.” Lady Melisandre turned to her and smiled. “I had red hair like yours once. Although mine were few shades fierier, flame-red they used to say.”

The old lady glanced at the door when she heard a faint bell. “I will go see who that is.”

Sansa nodded.

She stood up in front of the mirror and examined her reflection after Lady Melisandre left the room.  She wished she had worn something lighter and brighter. Her black top was clinging to her skin because of the sweat. The green full skirt looked chic in the morning but now felt heavy and annoying. She pulled out a hair tie from her bag and put her hair up in a bun as neat as she could manage. It has been more than a week. Sansa was already growing tired of this southern heat. This small room was starting to feel just as hot as outside. Lady Melisandre entered the room again before Sansa could step out.

“There is another girl who wishes to buy this dress.” Melisandre stated in a cold, toneless voice.

Sansa narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What does that mean?” Did she change her mind. Sansa tried to push away the panic rising in her chest. _It’s just a dress_ , she reminded herself. “Do you not wish to sell the dress to me anymore?”

Lady Melisandre laughed out loudly, yet her laugh seemed to have no life in it. “The dress is yours child,” she assured her.

“Then what is it?” Sansa asked tartly.

“There is a man with her. He wishes to speak to you.”

She raised her brows dubiously. This morning was turning weirder by the minute. “Well I don’t wish to speak to him.” Sansa said quickly.  “I shouldn’t have to.” You deal with your angry customers she wanted to add.

“You should speak to him. At least hear what he has to say.” Melisandre insisted.

Sansa didn’t understand the urgency in Lady Melisandre’s voice. She grabbed her bag. The fitting room was getting too warm for her anyways.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _Jon freaking Snow_.

Sansa glanced at him for less than a second before turning away from him.  What was it he said when he last spoke to her? Oh yes, he had called her a coward and told her he would be ashamed if he was her. Sansa went through a lot that day but his words were what stung the most that night as she cried herself to sleep. Sansa wanted to talk to him the day he left for university. She wanted to apologize for her part in creating the wall between them. She wanted to wish him luck. Before she could say anything he told her _let’s not cross each other’s path again_. Those words haunted her for years. It was crazy that his words had such a powerful effect on her when he meant nothing to her. He didn’t even look at her then. She didn’t want to look at him now. She certainly didn’t want to give her dress to him. How dare he want her dress?!

Thank god Ygritte moved between them so she did not need to address him. Sansa glanced at the dress. The delicate fabric of the dress was tightly bunch up in Ygritte’s tight grip. She wanted to tell her to be gentle, not to handle the garment so roughly.

“I want the dress.” Ygritte broke the awkward silence. It seemed more like a demand then a request.

Sansa wanted to snatch the dress and tell her too bad, she will never have the dress. Instead she silently counted to three to calm herself. “I am sorry. You are a little late. I didn’t know you wanted this dress Ygritte. She already agreed to sell it to me.” Sansa did not understand Ygritte. Was she not there yesterday when Sansa gushed over the dress? Maybe not. Even if she had not heard anything yesterday, it seemed rude to want something another person has already chosen. The situation was truly shameful.

“Have you paid for it yet?”

“No, I haven’t.” Sansa muttered.

“Then it is not yours yet.” Ygritte said defiantly.

Sansa noted the ugly tone of her voice. The girl hated her. She was not a big fan of Ygritte either, but she didn’t hate her. At least she did not think so.  “Don’t make the situation more uncomfortable. She won’t sell it to you.”

“Why because you have her wrapped around your little finger as well? I don’t mind uncomfortable situations. I enjoy them quite a bit.”

Jon placed a hand on Ygritte’s shoulder. He cleared his throat. “Can I speak to you Sansa?”

 _No, no you can’t._  Sansa straightened her shoulder. She wanted to take the dress from Ygritte’s hand at that moment and go back to the fitting room. Away from her and especially him. “Speak.”

Jon seemed surprised by her tone. He glanced around the shop. It was too small to offer them any privacy. “Maybe outside?”

The look in Ygritte’s eyes made it clear she had no intentions of returning the dress. And Sansa no longer wanted to have the same arguments with people who lacked common decency. So she nodded and walked out of the shop.

She waited for him to say something, but he was looking out to the road, probably thinking of what to say. Despite her anger she couldn’t help but watch him with interest. He had grown taller, and broader over the years. And alarmingly handsome, she noted miserably. Sansa did not care for facial hair, or usually like the rough feeling against her skin—but just like the dark curls on his head, his beard looked soft. She had to remind herself to not reach out and touch it. The dark hair framed and highlighted the sensual curve of his full lips—lips she was staring at when he turned to face her.  

She jerked back and took a few steps away from him.  She crossed her arm over chest. “Tell you girlfriend to give my dress back.”

Jon shrugged. “She wouldn’t.”

Her mouth parted in disbelief. “We could call the police.”

Jon drew back and quirked a smile. “Really? You want to call the police over a bloody dress? You couldn’t call the police over more serious issues and you want to call them over a dress?”

Even though every inch of Sansa wanted to walk away from him for such a low blow, she forced herself to remain in place.  _I am stronger now_  she told herself. “So what do you think we should do?”

“We negotiate.” He suggested plainly.

Sansa would have laughed if it was any other man beside Jon. Of course he wants to negotiate. This is what he does for a living. “Should I bring my lawyer as well since Ygritte brought hers?”

Jon snorted disdainfully.

“I was here first. The owner wants me to have the dress. Even if I walk away from this there is no guarantee she will sell you the dress. I have no reason to walk away from this. You guys are just being unreasonable and difficult.”

He looked even more handsome as he frowned. _This is Jon Snow._ He thought for a moment before looking over his shoulder. “Name your price. There must be something you want. Ask for it. Just leave the dress to us.” Jon said quite arrogantly.

Sansa laughed. “You want to pay _me_ for the dress?”

“If that is what you want.” He shrugged. “Unless there is something else you want.”

She stared at him in disbelief. This time he didn’t look away. Instead he turned to face her fully. He crossed his arms over his chest without removing his eyes from her. He was waiting for her to crack. Sansa caught her lower lip between her teeth. He underestimates her she realized. He thinks she will cower under his stare.  

She wanted him to know she was neither scared nor intimidated by him. If she appeared a bit nervous it was only because— _he was staring at her with those fascinating, charcoal grey eyes that she never noticed before_!

She was sure those eyes would steal her soul right there and then if she stared any longer. This had to stop. “There is something I want.” Sansa took a long breath. “I would like Ygritte to get along with me.”

Jon arched a brow as if he didn’t quite believe her.

“Believe it or not Margaery and I have been planning this wedding since we were 9. I want everything to be—perfect. Ygritte and I don’t see eye to eye on things. There is still a long time left until the wedding. Soon we will all be in Winterfell. I just want things to go smoothly. Margaery has enough to worry about already. I don't want her to worry about the two of us.” She paused. _I can still go inside and talk to Melisandre. I don’t have to do this_. “I will walk away from this dress, but I want her to be—nicer. Less hostile towards me. No more rolling eyes. Just because I don’t say something for the sake of politeness doesn’t mean I don’t notice. I need her to stop.”

“Fine.” Jon nodded.

“You are not going to ask her about it?”

“I don’t need to.” He turned his attention back to the road.

“What if I walk away now and nothing changes later?”

“I don’t lie Sansa.”

 _No. You were always awfully too honest for my liking_  Sansa thought. “I will leave then.”

As Sansa walked away she pulled out the itchy hair tie that held her bun in place. It felt good to let her hair fall back down. It stung to walk away from the dress but she felt good about this all of a sudden. She will walk away and never look back. Margaery was more important than a dress. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jon lay supine on the bed with his arms folded behind his head. Sleep seemed to be a million miles away tonight. This was not like him—usually he fell asleep as soon as he was done having sex. He glanced at the sleeping body next to him; they didn't have sex tonight. She moved so far away from him that he worried one inch more and she would land on the floor. She was angry. Even after Sansa left the lady refused to sell the dress to Ygritte. She did sell it to Jon however. Jon told her it was the same thing but to Ygritte it wasn’t.  

For at least the tenth time that day he found himself thinking of another redhead,  _a very different redhead_. He wished Ygritte did not want the bloody dress. He was sure it would remind him of Sansa whenever he would look at it. Just the way certain cheesy pop songs and lemon cakes always reminded him of Sansa. That is why he tries to avoid lemon cakes even though he really likes them.

 

Although Jon hadn’t returned to the Stark home after graduating, he saw Arya and Bran at least once a year when they came to visit him and Robb. He knew Bran was no longer the skinny little boy that he once was.  He was probably even taller than Jon. He knew Arya no longer resembled a boy, in fact she had grown into a lovely young girl. He had never wondered what Sansa might look like after nine years, how she might have changed. Now he knew. He wished he hadn’t known. He would’ve liked to live a little longer without realizing how attractive Sansa Stark was. She had gotten taller over the years. Arya wasn’t very tall, she used to complain about not having long legs like Sansa. He had never paid it much thought—but now he had to wonder. Yes, it seemed like Sansa would have long  _shapely_  legs.

 

Jon turned over to his side and sighed in frustration.  _Damn_  those beautiful blue eyes. They were trouble; he shouldn’t have looked into them. Robb had blue eyes as well. They possibly couldn’t be the same shade as Sansa’s though.

He wished she had left her hair in a bun because now he knew how they shone in the sunlight. As she had walked to her car her hair caught the morning light and shone in a way he never remembered even in the brightest days back in the North. It appeared to be just as soft as her skin. He wanted to know what her hair would feel like between his fingers. The texture of her hair seemed different than Ygritte’s hair.

He tried to think of the skinny fifteen year old girl he once knew. That girl did have a lovely face—but the face he looked at today, it could make a grown man cry. That skinny body had also transformed into luscious curves. When did she change so much?

 _I have to stop thinking about her_. _No more Sansa…_

Jon was already planning to avoid her throughout the wedding, but now he would have to avoid her for entirely different reasons than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote this much. I really don't know how to write!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to edit ONE word on my phone and deleted chapter 3 by mistake :( So here is the same exact chapter again! Sorry I lost all of your comments. I never got to thank all of you personally.

_To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow,_

_Your false king is dead, bastard. Come and see. He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. I have his magic sword. Tell his red whore._

_Your false king’s friends are dead. Their heads upon the walls of Winterfell. Come and see them, bastard._

_You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall, you have betrayed your own kind, you have betrayed the North, Winterfell is mine bastard, come and see . . ._

_I want my bride back, send her to me bastard and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you will watch as my soldiers take turn raping your sister, then I will cut out your bastard’s heart and let my dogs eat it. . . come and see . . ._

_Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North._

 

_“Jon Snow?” Ygritte whispered. “You look like your father’s bloody head just rolled out of that paper.”_

_Jon stared at the words. Send her to me bastard. What does he mean send her? He did not have her._

_“Lord Snow?” Melisandre inquired. Jon couldn’t find the words to voice the content of the letter so he handed it to her instead._

_“What is in the fucking letter?” Ygritte demandedas Melisandre’s eyes scanned the letter._

_“Ramsay Bolton no longer has Sansa Stark.” Melisandre whispered._

_Relief washed over Ygritte’s whole body. “That is good.” For last three days Ygritte has been begging Jon Snow not to go back to Winterfell. Now he has no reason to go get himself killed. “Now you don’t have to go.” Ygritte smiled._

_Jon nodded. I want my bride back…I want my bride back…I want my bride back… Where is she? Where would she go Jon wondered.  I saw a girl crying out your name. Jon’s head swarmed with so many questions he felt dizzy. Was she coming to him? How was she going to get here all on her own? What if— Jon’s heart clenched so tightly at the thought. What if Ramsay found her before she got here? you will watch as my soldiers take turn raping your sister. He closed his eyes and tried to block out all the thoughts._

_Ygritte was yelling at Melisandre now. He could hear her words but it felt as if she was a million miles away. He was trying to listen to what she was saying but not a single word was registering in his mind. His thoughts went to another girl calling out his name. He had never been close to her but she was still dear to him. He did nothing when they took his father and sisters away to King’s Landing. He did nothing when they declared his honorable father a traitor and took his head. Absolutely nothing when they burned his two innocent brothers or when they killed Robb, his best friend, his confidant. Jon felt as if his heart would give out on him. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. Arya, his little sister Arya. Forever lost to him. He had done absolutely nothing to protect them. He sat by as the world took them one by one. Not Sansa. He wouldn’t let them take Sansa._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Willas noted a change in Sansa when they arrived at Winterfell. After almost a month of the southern heat she was ecstatic to be back in the North. He knew it was more than the cool weather. It was Winterfell, the place of her dreams. According to Sansa, the Stark family had held the castle for thousands of years.  If it wasn’t for the history books, Willas would’ve doubted such an astonishing claim. While most of Winterfell was in ruins, the family managed to turn part of the main castle into a small hotel sometime during the last century. To Sansa and the rest of the Starks, it was home. Willas had always found the Stark children’s love for Winterfell truly fascinating. It had nothing to do with greed or desire of inheriting the hotel. It was just love, pure and simple love. It was apparent in all of their eyes. This was the only reason Margaery wanted this wedding to be at such a dreary place.

He wished the wedding was taking place in another place, somewhere warmer, somewhere larger where he wouldn’t be sharing a room with Garlan and Sansa wouldn’t be sharing one with Arya.  Two uncooperative siblings Willas thought miserably.  _He missed her_. He missed talking to her. Sansa was too busy with the wedding preparation to talk to him for more than ten minutes. She was always with the girls, or helping her mother with the hotel.  He missed holding her and kissing her. As romantic as Sansa was, she felt a proper lady wouldn’t publicly display her affections. It was also hard to kiss her with her brothers always watching her like guard dogs—even the little one. The fact that they have known him for years and he had been dating their sister for nearly a year now made no difference. When it came to Sansa, they were always on alert. It irritated Willas. The brothers loved Arya just as much but only male presence around Sansa seemed to put them on edge. Robb always played the protective older brother around them. One of these days he would like to remind Robb if Willas had played the protective older brother to Margaery then he wouldn’t be getting married right now.  He missed making love to Sansa. He missed her warm smile in bed and her breathy laugh. Unfortunately he could enjoy no such things because well—there was no privacy in this damn hotel. Whenever he did manage to grab her and take her to a private place the gods sent him Jon Snow, from hell.

For the third time in one week Jon Snow had walked in on Sansa and him. Sansa was always so aware of her surroundings that it was nearly impossible to convince her to let go of propriety in any place outside of a respectable bedroom. Still Willas would like to think he succeeded three times— _somewhat succeeded_. He stole her away middle of the night to bake terrible lemon cakes. Sansa had found that incredibly romantic. He stole many kisses as he recited the new poem he penned for her. Just when Sansa was about to give in, Jon Snow walked in. Apparently the man needed late night snacks after having sex with his girlfriend, a feisty red head who was so different from his own red head. Sansa’s feet couldn’t carry her fast enough after Jon arrived. She didn’t even turn back to look at Willas. He was left sharing the terrible lemon cakes with Jon Snow instead of the beautiful woman he made them for.

Few days ago they went into Ned Stark’s office. Sansa’s father wasn’t planning to arrive to Winterfell for at least another two weeks. No one was using the office in his absence. There was no way anyone could interrupt them. Willas even checked twice to make sure the door was locked. He kept the lights dimmed so no one passing by would get curious to see who is inside. This time around they were truly alone.

“I missed you,” he had murmured as he rained delicate kisses along her cheek until he reached the line of her jaw. It felt like heaven to have her so close to him, feel her warmth in this cold depressing place. Sansa was his summer. He pulled down the zipper of her dress as his lips played with hers. He needed to touch her, to  _feel_  her. She had been running from place to place for more than a month now. Her work and the wedding kept her busy and away from him. It had felt like they were in a long distance relationship.  _Well no more running._  She was finally here, in his arms. He whispered her name against her lips, against her jaw, against the crook of her neck, on her beautiful shoulders as he lowered the dress until it rested right above her breasts. Has there ever a woman who was lovelier than his Sansa? No. He was so lost in his thoughts of Sansa he didn’t even hear the door open. It was only when Sansa yelped and pushed him away he realized something was wrong. He turned around to see Jon Snow behind him.

Apparently, Ned Stark’s unofficial son had a key to the office and his permission to use the office whenever he needed work space, just like Robb. Turned out Jon Snow needed it right then. Although he apologized, to Willas he didn’t look least bit apologetic as he asked them to leave. Willas was a nice guy but Jon Snow was trying his patience.

By the end of the week Willas was sick of everyone. It wasn’t just his inability to get really close to Sansa and the lack of sex that was driving him insane. To Willas it felt as if the universe was conspiring to keep him and Sansa apart. The day Willas asked Sansa out on their first date he had known he would like to marry her someday. She was everything a man could want. She came from a wealthy family with an old name. She was intelligent, kind, gentle, and outrageously beautiful. She was everything he could hope for in a wife and more. He decided he didn’t want to wait anymore. It was not possible to marry her right now, Sansa would never agree and Margaery would kill him. However, he could ask her to marry him. If they were engaged then maybe the brothers would stop glaring at him whenever he was around their sister. Maybe then it wouldn’t be improper to share a room. Also it would ground Sansa, it would bind her to him.

Willas planned everything perfectly. There was something Sansa had wanted for a long time. She wanted a horse. She wanted to go riding in the old Godswood. Willas was planning to gift Robb with a prized thoroughbred from his stables to add to the Stark stables in Winterfell. It was meant to be a surprise, but Willas decided he would find another gift for him. He would gift the horse to Sansa.

“You got me a horse?” Her eyes flew to his after he showed her the horse.

Willas smiled “I got you a _stallion_. He is one of my best ones.” Willas claimed proudly. “Do you not like him?”

Sansa stared at Willas as if he grew a second head. “Willas…” She turned her head to look at the creature then back to him. “Willas this is crazy. You got me a horse!”

Willas was a smart man but he was not following Sansa’s train of thought. He had anticipated an entirely different reaction. She seemed more angry than happy. She wanted this,  _he knows she wanted this_. He blinked trying to remember if he imagined that. “You are not happy—you don’t like him?” Maybe he should’ve just planned an ordinary dinner before popping the question.

“He is beautiful.” She said quickly. “But he is too much. Giving me a horse like it is nothing. It is like giving me a car. His worth in the market is probably more than most people’s houses.”

Sansa was right about that. Willas took two steps toward her and closed the gap between them. “Sansa. Darling. He is a gift.”

“Well I can’t accept this gift.” Sansa snapped. “It’s not right.” She was backing away from him slowly. He noticed her take a small step backward.

“Why not?” Willas demanded. “You are my girlfriend. I love you and you love me. No gift can be too big between two people who love each other”

Sansa ground her teeth and shook her head. “You don’t just give your girlfriend a gift like this.”

“Well can you give such a gift to the woman you will marry?” He asked irritably. This is not the romantic proposal he had in mind.

Sansa did not understand right away.  Her eyes widened as his words registered.

“I love you.” Once again he closed the gap between them. This time around he gathered her in his arms. He leaned towards her until his forehead rested against hers. “I love you.”  _Tell me you love me too._  “I want to marry you. I want to hold you like this for the rest of my life. I want to do this without feeling guilty. Or without fearing that one of your brothers will knock the daylight out of me, even the thirteen year old. He is the one I am scared of most to be honest.” One of her brows lifted. Soon she sputtered with laughter.

It felt like victory to Willas. He released her from his arm and slowly kneeled down to one knee. “Sansa Stark, spending the rest of my life with you is my greatest dream. Say yes to me Sansa. Will you marry me?”

“Willas” she sobbed his name. Her beautiful blue eyes glistened with tears.  _Tears are good_ Willas told himself. Her lips parted but before she could utter a sound there was a noise behind him.

Willas turned his head to see what the noise was. Both of their eyes widened with horror as the front door to the Winterfell stables opened. There was a cold breeze and with it came Jon Snow.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _Sansa was a terrible person_. She had to be if she spent two days avoiding Willas. Sansa felt so angry. Angry at herself because Willas is everything she had ever dreamed of as a girl and more. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to say yes. She was angry at Willas because of his terrible timing. And then—she was angry at Jon Snow for unintentionally coming between them time and time again. If Jon hadn’t walked in that morning she would’ve said yes to Willas. She is sure of it. She wouldn’t have told him they will discuss it later.

“What is there to discuss?” Sansa sniffled. She came to a stop and Dalran stopped behind her. She wiped the unwanted tears with the back of her hand. The exhaustion was finally catching up to her. That had to be the only reason why she was crying. “We are going to stop for a moment, okay boy?” She smiled weakly at the horse. Keeping the rope secure in one hand, she reached into her leather crossbody to pull out her water bottle.  She took few sips as she looked around the dark forest. She walked too far into the Godswood. Dear God, how long had she been walking for? The soft susurration of the leaves sent a chill down her spine. The place seemed awfully too familiar— as if she was remembering it from another time. That was impossible. She had never ventured this deep into these ancient woods before.

In a moment she would walk back so she can join the others for breakfast. She turned to look at her gift from Willas. “He is a good man, isn’t he Dalran? The most wonderful man.” Sansa gently stroked the animal’s head on both sides. “I could keep you if I said yes,” she said softly.

She always wanted a horse but her mother forbade her from riding after she suffered a dangerous fall as a child. Sansa didn’t protest. Not after what happened to Bran. Unlike the rest of her family Sansa had never been a terrific rider. So she pretended she had no interest in riding. It pleased her mother. At least she had one child with gentler hobbies. “Should I say yes then?” The horse didn’t react to her words. He lazily swished his tail. Sansa smiled. She extended a hand palm-up. Carefully Dalran sniffed her hand. His eyes half closed. He lowered his head to her palm and pressed his muzzle against her palm.

“They bite you know?” She heard a familiar voice come from beside her. “Especially the stallions.”

She was starting to think Jon Snow was not a man, but a ghost. How else could he manage to sneak up on her so often without making a sound? Or maybe he just caught her at the worst times when she was not paying attention.

Sansa expelled a controlled sigh.  _Courtesy is a lady’s armor_  she reminded herself.  She turned around to face him, still holding on to Dalran’s rope. “Good Morning,” she muttered under her breath.

 

The mere presence of Jon Snow annoyed her. The sight of him looking clean and crisp even after a ride, with his dark curls pulled into a small tight bun, looking so undeniably attractive and utterly— the sight of him annoyed her. She wanted to walk up to him and mess up that hair. She wanted to run her hands through his dark curls, tug at them hard and see what his reaction would be. She had never done something like that with Joffrey or Willas.  _I bet Ygritte gets to do it all the time_ , Sansa thought bitterly. 

The only good thing was she was certain her presence annoyed him just as much. He always looked tormented around her.  Even now. He scanned her head to toe and then quickly looked away, refusing to look at her again. Sansa almost snorted. She knew he didn't like her as a person, turned out he didn’t even like the sight of her.

“So this is the prized stallion Willas brought to Winterfell?” Jon asked looking at Dalran.

Sansa nodded.

“And he gave him to you?”

She clenched her jaw. He probably thought it was ridiculous.  _Look at this silly girl who doesn't even know how to ride properly. What is she doing with such a precious horse?_  “It’s a gift from my future husband” Sansa found herself saying. She immediately regretted it. _It was true though, wasn’t it?_ Even if she hadn’t given an answer to Willas she knew they would eventually marry.

He looked at her sharply. His brows slowly knitted in a frown. “Don’t marry him because he gave you a damn horse Sansa.”

Sansa’s mouth parted in shock and then closed. Parted again and closed. She did not want to discuss Willas with him. “I won’t marry him because of a horse. I will marry him because I love him,” she fumed. “Beside, this is none of your concern! Why do you always assume you have a right to tell me what to do? We are not friends.”

“Are we enemies then?” Jon queried. A flare of amusement lit his dark eyes making them appear lighter.

“Aren’t we?” Sansa narrowed her eyes.  “Do you not remember what it was like growing up around each other? You constantly told my little sister she should be glad she was nothing like me. You thought I didn’t know? Before you left our house you called me a coward. You told me you never wish to be around girls like me. If you must know fifteen year old girls don’t handle insults too well. ”

“That was a long time ago.” Jon whispered. If Sansa didn’t know better she would’ve thought her words made him feel guilty. “People change. Surely you have changed. I hope you don’t falsely accuse people of lying anymore.” There was bitterness in his eyes, and something else…

“I haven’t.” Sansa shook her head. “You were right. Joffrey did hurt me that day but you had no right to go to father and Robb without my permission. You should’ve stayed out of it. Father is old fashioned. He was planning to go to their house and beat his best friend’s son. Think about that for a second!  Years of friendship ruined because of their kids. What do you think Cersei would’ve done when father attacked her precious son? So I lied. I told them you were jealous of Joffrey because it made the most sense to me. I would do it again. I don’t have your stupid, stubborn honor Jon. I lie when I find it necessary. I would lie to protect the ones I love.”

Jon stared at her mutely. For a long time he said nothing. Finally he stepped towards her. Before she could take a step back she realized he was coming toward Dalran. He ran his hand along Dalran’s long, graceful neck. The animal didn’t seem to enjoy it because he started shifting. “I don’t think he likes you very much.” Sansa observed.  _Good. He is just like me._

“That is ridiculous. I am great with horses.” Jon scoffed.

Sansa rolled her eyes then turned her attention to her horse. “Whoa, whoa boy!” Dalran started moving around a lot more. She was having a hard time holding on to the rope.

“Let me” Jon offered.

“Please stay away” Sansa warned coldly.

“I am stronger—“ There was no point though. Sansa already let go of the rope and Dalran broke into a trot. Within moments they could no longer see him through the trees.  _He vanished._

Sansa shot Jon a scathing glare, unable to think of any words to sufficiently express her fury. “YOU! You made him run away!” Sansa hissed.

Jon’s mouth parted in shock. “He is a horse. I couldn’t make him run away.” Jon explained.

“GO GET HIM BACK!” Sansa yelled. Her fists clenched to her side.

For the first time in her life, Jon looked scared.  _Of her_. “I will go get my horse. I left it close by. Tied to a tree like  _you should’ve_.”

Sansa was shaking. As Jon disappeared from sight she reached for her cell phone. Of course she knew there would be no reception there. Still she had to look. Sansa could feel the tears pricking in her eyes. Willas gave her something so precious and she already lost it. She paced back and forth and looked at both directions. Hoping either Darlan or Jon would return soon. Hopefully Darlan. Jon Snow can go to hell.

Unfortunately it was Jon who returned.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Let’s go.” Jon offered his hand from top of his horse.

Sansa blinked as if she didn’t understand him. “You want me to come with you?”

He looked around. “Can’t just leave you middle of a forest. Now let’s go.”

Sansa looked down and then up again, as if debating her options.  She finally nodded. Holding tightly onto Jon’s arm and the cantle, she placed her foot on the stirrup. Then mounted herself on to the saddle.

Once on the saddle, she tried to keep a safe distance between them. Instead of feeling offended it actually amused Jon. Partly because no matter how hard she tried, her back kept hitting his chest. She never gave up trying though.

They searched the forest for some time before she broke the silence. “He is nowhere in sight.”

“Probably ran away.”  _I hope he ran away_.

 “Don’t joke about this.” She slapped his arm “Willas is going to be so angry, and—hurt. What will I tell him if we don’t find him?” She sounded sad. It annoyed Jon.

“We will find him. And if we don’t I am sure the law enforcement will.” Jon scanned the area. “Now don’t say yes to him just because you lost his horse.” Sansa turned her head to glare at him. It made him chuckle.

“I told you I wouldn’t marry him for a horse.” She reminded him. “I will marry him because I love him," she said defiantly. 

Jon hummed. He didn’t want to think about Willas marrying Sansa. He was busy thinking about her,  _just her_. He was annoyed by the way her breeches hugged every delicious curve of her body. Why was she even wearing riding breeches when she had no intention of riding? Earlier it had felt like he was in a daze when he saw her talking lovingly to the horse. He tried not to walk towards her but failed. In her white polo and grey riding breeches she painted the most mesmerizing picture. Jon’s only complaint was her hair was in a braid. His hands itched to free the tresses. He felt himself leaning towards her. She smelled soft and sweet like flowers after a rainy day. Her scent teased his senses.

She almost hit his face when her head spun around. “What about you?”

 _What about me?_ He couldn’t remember what they were talking about. He felt intoxicated.

“I heard you and Ygritte have been together for years now. Why aren’t you guys getting married?”

Jon shrugged casually. “We don’t believe in marriages.” This was a conversation he had often.

“What is wrong with marriages?” Her lovely brows bumped together in a scowl.

“What is _right_ with marriages? What can I possibly get from marrying Ygritte that I already don’t get? We love each other. We have a home. We share our lives together.”

“What about kids?” Sansa asked. “You don’t want little Jon Snows who would try to rescue helpless girls like me?”

Jon flinched as if the picture she painted had somehow stung him. “I don’t want kids.”  _LIAR._

Jon watched as Sansa lowered her head. Her shoulders sagged as if the thought of him never having kids made her sad. 

“We have been roaming around the forest for hours now." She said softly. "I don’t think we will find him.” He couldn’t see her face but he saw her wipe her face. “Let’s just go back.” He heard voice trembled.

“Are you—going to cry? Please don’t cry.” Jon muttered.

“Oh I am sorry if I am not strong like your Ygritte who probably never sheds a tear." She was right about that. He couldn't remember the last time he saw the woman cry. "I am not like Arya! I cry.” She sobbed.

That is not why Jon didn’t want her to cry. It bothered him to see her body shake like that. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. She was shaking more now.  _BLOODY HELL!  One time is not going to change anything._  Jon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. She uttered a small, protesting sound that Jon chose to ignore.

 

“It’s going to be okay Sansa. Trust me.” He whispered in her ear. “Trust me someone will find him.” After a moment he felt her lean back to him. She was letting him hold her. She didn't push him away and tell him to mind his own business like she usually did. He held her until she stopped shaking. 

 

 

 

Willas, Robb, Arya and Catelyn were all waiting by the stable when they returned to Winterfell. They look petrified as they scanned the two.

“Sansa!” Robb exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

Jon pulled back on the reins and his horse came to a halt in front of them. Willas and Robb immediately rushed to help Sansa dismount. Jon hopped down after her. He was going to return to the stables but his feet remained firmly planted to the ground. He didn’t want to leave her just yet. He wanted to make sure she would be okay.  _Of course she would be okay. She was among people who loved her._

Willas drew Sansa into his arms. “Are you okay darling? We were worried something happened to you.”

Sansa bit her lip and let out a sharp breath. “Willas. I lost Dalran. I was just walking with him and he ran. Jon helped me search the area but…” Her voice broke.

“It’s okay.” Willas whispered gently. “We will get him back.” He gathered her in his arms again, rubbing circles on her back. The sight made Jon clench his jaw. 

Willas then turned to Jon and nodded. “Thanks man. At least you were there.” He smiled but the smile didn’t reach his eyes like they usually do.

 

 

Once Jon returned to his hotel room he headed straight into the bathroom to take a shower. A cold shower was exactly what he needed to drive out all thoughts of Sansa. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the frame and sighed. He had been thinking about Sansa for days—weeks even. Jon told himself his thoughts were harmless. She was an attractive woman and Jon was just _curious_ , intrigued even. Now his thoughts were starting to scare him. From now on he would have to shut out all thoughts of her. He had to be more careful. No more Sansa Stark. He couldn't give into this euphoric, disastrous feeling that was starting to invade him.  


	4. Chapter 4

 

_  
This was his last night at Castle Black. Jon would leave for Winterfell tomorrow._

_He gazed at the parchment in front of him, trying hard to focus on its content. All he could think about was the meeting from an hour ago. His brothers had accused him of deserting them, of breaking his vows. He promised to return once he rescued Sansa. He was not choosing sides in this war as many of them accused him off; he simply wanted to save this girl, the last remaining member of his family. The Night’s Watch weren’t supposed to have families his brothers had yelled._

_Jon leaned back on his chair, letting out a long breath. Sansa… Jon closed his eyes. It must’ve been due to the lack of sleep, because at that moment he felt like Sansa could hear him calling out her name. Jon tried to remember what she looked like. What if he didn’t recognize her? Red hair, she had such pretty red hair… different from Ygritte’s._

_Suddenly the door flew open, almost blowing out the candles in the room. “Lord Commander!” It was Olly. Jon was surprised by his entrance. He had never entered without knocking before, no one did. A sudden uneasy feeling gnawed at his gut. Jon sat up straight, back to looking like their Lord Commander instead of a helpless boy._

_Before he could ask what is wrong, Olly continued. “It’s one of the wildlings you brought back. He says he knows about your uncle Benjen.”_

_Jon’s heart clenched tightly in his chest. Uncle Benjen! “Are you sure?”_

_Olly hesitated for a second. His gaze fell to his feet then he looked up at him again. “We don’t know. It’s best—it’s best if you ask him.” He stuttered._

_Jon stormed out of his chamber with Olly following behind him. The cold wind hit his face like hundreds of tiny glass shards as he ran down the old wooden stairs. His heart pounded like a drum, almost painfully. He pushed through the circle of men gathered in the yard to meet the man who knew about his uncle Benjen._

_There was no man waiting in the middle however, only a wooden sign.  Jon Snow stared at the freshly painted words on the sign, “TRAITOR.” This wasn’t the first time they called him that. However it felt different this time. Jon felt something inside him starting to crack. After what seemed like an eternity Jon turned around to face his men._

_“Brothers—“ Before he could utter one more word Alliser Thorne walked up to him and punched him in his gut. “For the watch,” he whispered. Jon felt his breath get caught in his chest as he bent over sharply from the punch. When his assailant pulled his fist away, Jon noticed the dagger that he buried in him. His eyes widened – trying to make sense of it. A sworn brother just plunged a dagger in him. Jon grabbed the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free.  He covered the area with his hand, feeling warm liquid ooze out of the wound._

_Jon tried to reach for Longclaw, but his fingers weren’t cooperating. He had done it a hundred times in the past. He could unsheathe his sword even in his sleep but at the moment he couldn’t focus enough to get the sword free of its scabbard. He looked down at his clumsy fingers._

_A grunt escaped Jon’s lips as he felt another stab to his gut. “For the watch.” He needed to get his sword. Where was Edd? Where was Ygritte? And Ghost? A new man came at him with a rusted blade. Before he could bury the blade in him, Jon caught his wrist and twisted his arm until he dropped the dagger. He survived Ygritte’s arrows, he killed white walkers at Hardhome. This was nothing. Then another man came with his dagger and this time he plunged it near Jon’s heart. “For the watch,” he too said._

_His men stepped up one after another. Three, four, five, six, seven Jon counted as they plunged their daggers in him one after another. “For the watch.”_

_Jon fell to his knees, struggling for air. He choked as blood forced its way up his throat. Every gash was starting to burn. The men in front of him parted in the middle to make space. It was Olly. No! Not Olly. He was his brother. He had treated him like he would treat his own brothers, Bran and Rickon. Tears ran down the young boy’s cheeks. Jon almost pitied the shaking boy. If he was in a better state he might’ve even comforted him. You don’t have to do this. But he did, he stepped forward and he made the last plunge— just the way he taught him. “For the watch,” he whispered.  Jon didn’t feel Olly’s dagger. He only felt the cold…_

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sansa let out an irritated exhale as she crumpled up yet another piece of good paper. Writing a toast for Robb and Margaery was turning out to be the most difficult task thus far. She stared at the blank sheet in front of her, trying to imagine the words she should write. What could she tell her brother about Margaery that he already did not know?

"Stop wasting so much paper. Switch to your laptop." Arya mumbled from her bed. 

"No" Sansa drawled. "I write better on paper." It was true. Sansa did write better on paper. Well... _usually_ she wrote better on paper.

She had already written four drafts, each draft made her cringe more than the last. She had read one out loud to Arya, the best one in her opinion. Her sister had stared at her in horror, immediately telling her if she ever made that speech again she would throw something at her. Sansa’s advice on love resembled terrible dialogue from the romantic movies she loved to watch. Come to think of it, she was certain some of them were identical. Sansa groaned in frustration, burying her face in her hands.

Arya placed her phone on the night stand and sat up on her. "You are probably tired Sans. Go to bed. Finish another day."

Sansa shook her head. “I am not tired,” she said softly. Maybe that was a lie. She _was_ a little tired. There was simply no time to be tired when her new line of clothing was going into production in a week. Thinking about the amount of work that still needed to be done pre-production made Sansa shudder.

“The wedding is still weeks away.” Arya reminded her.

Sansa turned her head to look at Arya. “But I will be even busier from next week. I won’t have any time to write a proper toast.” Procrastination was a not a word that existed in Sansa’s dictionary.

She wanted to write something beautiful that would bring everyone to tears. Right now the only one on the brink of tears was her. The thought of asking Willas crossed her mind. He was much better at words than her. It’s just asking Willas would mean he would eventually take over and write the whole speech for her. The man didn’t know when to stop.

Her mind wandered to Jon. She wondered how he was doing with his toast. She tried to imagine him in a court room giving an impassioned speech for the small people who he fought for. She had a difficult time picturing the word wielding hero Sam told tales of. Jon Snow rarely spoke, _how could his words have such powerful effect on people_?

What if his toast was worse than hers? He did not even believe in marriages! While hers might be cheesy, his could be cold and indifferent—just like him.  _He is not cold, it is just with you!_  Sansa frowned at her inner voice. He was always warm and gentle with Arya, Bran and Rickon. None of them were children anymore, yet Jon seemed to dote on them as if they were. He never bothered to show such warmth toward her. She had foolishly assumed they were on slightly better terms after last week when he helped her search for her horse. Jon had been unbelievably gentle with her. Sansa was sure he would fling himself from top of his mount and run the other way when he realized she started crying, instead he had held her. He had taken her in his arms and held her until she felt ready to face Willas again. Sansa had felt exhausted that morning, it was as if a month of running around had finally caught up to her—but in Jon’s arms she felt recuperated.

She didn’t even get to thank him for that. The man started avoiding her like a plague after they returned.  This had nothing to do with her though. If Sansa approached him to talk about the wedding toast, it would be for Robb and Margaery. Surely, he would be okay with that…

The only problem was he was never alone. He didn’t even go out riding in the morning like he used to. Sansa knows because she waited at the stables for him. If Jon wasn’t working with Sam, he was always with Ygritte. Sometimes he spent time with the men, drinking and doing whatever other questionable things men did. Sansa was afraid to approach him in front of others. He would most certainly refuse her. She couldn’t embarrass herself like that in front of a crowd.

Sansa looked at the clock. Right now Jon was probably with her Dad. Jon usually spent few hours with her dad ever since he arrived at Winterfell. Although Jon’s expertise was not corporate law, Ned Stark seemed to trust him more than his own lawyer and family friend Petyr Baelish. If Sansa approached him in front of her Dad there was no way he would reject her. Jon might not like her very much but he would never disrespect Ned Stark’s daughter in front of him.

Twisting her hair in a knot, she did her best to pin in place. She got up from the chair and quickly glanced at her reflection on the mirror. 

"Where are you going at this hour?" Arya inquired. 

"I am going to go see Jon." When she saw Arya's brow slowly arching she explained further. "Maybe he can help."

Arya sputtered with laughter. "Jon? Help you with a wedding toast? Do you even know Jon?"

She couldn’t believe she was feeling so desperate for two minutes of Jon Snow’s time. _For Robb and Margaery,_ she told herself again. She was doing this for Robb and Margaery. This had nothing to do with her.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jon didn’t even have to look up from the documents to know the moment she walked into the room. Every part of him was suddenly aware of her. His chest grew tight and he had a hard time breathing normally. This constant awareness of her in recent days was starting to slowly drive him mad. The more he avoided her, the more this sickness in him seemed to grow. The more he ran from her, the more she seemed to appear in front of him. Sometimes it felt as if she was doing it on purpose.

She was an extremely attractive woman. He had been aware of that since the day he stood outside of that dress shop with her. Sansa Stark’s beauty was a fact, not an opinion. Any man,  _any man_  would know she is attractive. Young and old. Jon thought about the long list of disgusting men currently staying at Winterfell who had a thing for Sansa. Jon was probably the worst of the lot. At least these other guys were single. Jon had a woman in his life who he was supposed to be loyal to, body and soul. Right now it felt as if his soul had been corrupted by this woman in the room.

Jon blamed those treacherous dreams. He closed his eyes trying to push away the images instead they became more vivid. He could still feel it—his naked body sliding over an exquisite female form; his hands stroking and squeezing her warm flesh. He had buried his face in the soft waves of her copper hair as he slowly moved inside her. It was beautiful— Jon hated to admit it was more beautiful than what he experienced with Ygritte in real life. After days he had finally seen her face when he lifted his head to look into those beautiful blue eyes.

He had awakened in an instant, panting, sitting upright in his bed. After a long time, when his breathing slowed down he had laid back down. He fell asleep staring at the silhouette of the woman lying beside him in the dark. He wanted to wake her up. He wanted to drown himself in Ygritte until the very memory of the treacherous dream would vanish, but he had felt too guilty to even hold her. Because truly, even without seeing her face hadn’t he known the woman in his dream wasn’t Ygritte?

Ned Stark must’ve been surprised to see her in his office. His dark brows drew together in a worried frown the second his daughter stepped inside his office. “Sansa, what are you doing here at this hour? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine Dad. I was just wondering if you are almost done…” Sansa was speaking in her soft little voice. Jon knew  _this_  voice. This is the one she used around her father when she was about to ask him for something big. “I need Jon’s help with something.”

He must’ve heard wrong because she had just asked for him. “Jon’s help?” Ned seemed pleasantly surprised. “With what? Maybe I can help as well.”

“I am stuck on the wedding toast.” She seemed embarrassed to admit it.

Her problem drew a chuckle from her father. “How is that possible? You are great with words.”

Sansa folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t know.” She murmured. Walking over to her father's side, she sat at the edge of his desk. “I am just stuck. So if you are done with Jon I would really like his help.” She sounded so young and  _lovely_  when she talked to Ned. No wonder Ned Stark moved heaven and earth to fulfill his daughter's every whim. 

Ned turned his smiling face to Jon “What do you say Jon? Can you help her with this giant dilemma?”

Clearing his throat, he looked up from his papers that he had stopped paying attention to since the second she entered. “I don’t think I am very good with words myself. I haven’t even started writing my toast yet.” He turned to Sansa, “Willas is a poet. I am sure he can help you. ”

“And who will help you?” Sansa asked, turning her head to face him. 

“I will figure something out.” Jon said with a shrug.

“This is important.” Sansa snapped. “You can’t just _figure_ something out on the day of the wedding.”

“I will do it before then.” Jon frowned at the condescension in her voice. _There goes the irritating Sansa, who always has to have everything done her way_. Even the things that did not involve her.

She raised her brows dubiously. “When? Do you have a deadline in mind?”

Ned Stark started laughing. “Well…I am heading to bed.” He rose from his chair and placed a kiss on top of her head. “Jon you are not allowed to leave this room before you finish writing the toasts with her. Please son. You know how she gets when she can’t get things done.”

Jon wanted to protest, but he just nodded.

Before Ned Stark opened the door to leave he turned to them, “And try not to kill each other,” he said with a grin. He tried to remember the last time he saw the man grin like that.

Jon’s attention turned back to Sansa. Now it was just the two of them, _alone_. Sansa moved around the desk, sitting on Ned Stark’s chair like a queen would sit on a throne. Well they did name her after the Queen Sansa. Maybe she was a queen in another lifetime. It would explain her behavior.

He watched her lick her lips. Such a sensual little mouth. Full lips, meant for kissing. His own mouth had gone dry thinking about hers. Jon shook his head slightly. Trying to break the spell she somehow casts over him every single time.  

He took a deep breath. _This is torture._ “I don’t know what type of help you were expecting. I have nothing.”

“Then I will help you.” She said cheerfully. Maybe as I help you it—“

“Sansa” Jon groaned as if he was in pain—and he _was_ in pain. He didn’t know where. Everywhere. His head, his chest, his…he should leave. Leave while he still could.

Jon got up from the chair and walked towards the door, he would run if he could.

“Jon” Sansa said behind him. During the time he had known her, she maybe said his name three or four times. The sound of his name from her lips sent an unexpected thrill down his spine, and made blood rush to another part of him. He wanted her to say it again _, and again_. He couldn’t escape these dark thoughts.

She came around to face him, blocking the door. “Will you hate me forever?” The question surprised him. Sure he didn’t like her, but he didn’t _hate_ her. He hated evil corporations, dictators, he hated criminals, murderers. Not Sansa. “You go out of your way to help every single person in my family yet you won’t give me two minutes of your time.”

Jon blinked at her words. He did help the others but that is because they asked whenever they needed something. Sansa never needed anything from him before. She was always too proud, even worse than Robb. Whenever he had tried to help…well it was only with Joffrey she had turned him away. It is not like he had offered her his help on other occasions.

“I don’t hate you” he said coldly. _Just don’t like you_

Sansa let out a snort. “You pretend I don’t exist. You walk the other way every time you see me. It seems like time only made things worse between us instead of making it better.”

 _It’s because woman you haunt me in my dreams, you haunt me when I am up._ He wanted to shake her. Jon shrugged instead, letting out a long lazy exhale. “You are imagining this.”

“Oh please!” Sansa shot him a pointed look. “You don’t have to like me, at least be honest so we can move past this.”

Sansa waited for him to say something, when he didn’t she opened the door. Her shoulders weighed down from feeling defeated. “It’s okay.” She whispered. “You can go. I am sorry I tried to force you to help me. I will tell Dad we figured it out—“

Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he shut the door. He hadn’t intended it to be this way but suddenly her body was between his own and the door. She gasped softly. Her hands instinctively went to his chest to push him away, but to his surprise she didn’t push him away. She just left her hands there.

 _He should run. Run while he still could_ , _but how could he when she was so deliciously close again._ He tried to think of something else, but his brain was not cooperating at all. There had to be a scientific explanation for such destruction of mental of acuity.

“Sansa” he growled in her ears “Do you really want to know why I walk the other way every time I see you?”

Sansa swallowed hard. She looked uncertain, maybe even a little scared. _Good._ Now she would walk away from him and never approach him again. This is what he wants Jon told himself, trying to ignore the bitter disappointment rising in his chest. Then she nodded.  

 _She shouldn’t have done that._ He leaned towards her and she was forced to lean back until the back of her head touched the door. _You can still protest, tell me to move back, do something, anything!_

But she stared at him as if she too was mesmerized; her breath was coming in fits and starts. He could feel her fingers lightly trace the hard muscle of his chest. He burned through the last few shreds of self-control under her touch.

With a growl he captured her mouth with his. She gasped in surprise. Such a sweet little gasp, and such a sweet mouth. Instead of pushing him away. she responded to him. His mouth on her was hard, desperate and demanding. He worried he might bruise those beautiful lips but he couldn’t kiss her hard enough to satiate this mad hunger he had felt for days. She tasted absolutely delicious, an intoxicating flavor of peaches and wine that spun his head as if he were drunk. He wondered if other parts of Sansa tasted just as sweet as her lips.

He kissed her until they were both panting. Then he softly brushed his lips across her cheekbones. This was it… He had his one kiss. He should let go now.

A soft moan tore from her throat and her arms slipped around his shoulders as if she wasn’t quite ready for him to go. His hands closed around her slim waist and he pulled her closer. Holding her in his arms brought such a heady sensation, Jon couldn’t stop himself from tasting those lips again. His lips slanted against her mouth once more and she yielded generously. Her tongue played with his deliciously.

A groan of frustration escaped him. He wanted more of her, _he needed_ more. This was not enough. His hands roamed her soft curves. He tugged her forward against his erection, shamelessly pressing his hard length into her soft belly. Not caring what she might think. He wanted to inside her, desperately. In his twenty seven years of life, he couldn’t remember wanting anything more desperately than he wanted her at this moment.

With his mouth still possessing hers, he lifted her off the ground and carried her to the desk. He placed her gently on the desk. He pulled the pin from her hair so he could run his hand through it. “So soft,” he whispered as his lips moved lightly along her jawline. “Even in my dreams they weren’t so soft…” He grabbed a fist full of her long red tresses.

Sansa arched her neck to allow his lips greater access. “What dreams?” she breathed.

He didn’t answer, she didn’t seem to mind. Not when his hand closed over her breast, making her moan incoherently. He squeezed the firm flesh. His other hand wandered up her leg, feeling what is hidden underneath that long dress. He wanted to tear the dress off of her. He wanted her vulnerable and exposed to him. He wanted her perfect porcelain skin naked beneath his mouth. He wanted to taste every part of her.

She knew what he wanted. After all he was pressing it against her. “Jon…” her voice quivered.

 _Don’t say anything, please don’t say anything_. He cupped her face and tried to silence her with his lips. His thumbs stroked her cheeks, her slightly _wet_ cheeks.

Jon froze and looked at her face, tears glistening in those exquisite blue eyes.

Still panting he backed away from her, putting an immediate distance between them. He closed his eyes and let out a curse. What had he done? He had truly lost his mind. The tears in her eyes were finally waking him up from this dream and bringing him to his senses.

She was staring at him. She pressed her fingers to her parted lips as if he they were burned. “Why did you kiss me?” she asked, her voice was so low it was almost a whisper.

 _Because I really, really wanted to. Because I have lost my bloody mind_. There were many things Jon could have said but instead he just shrugged as if it was nothing. As if kissing her was not the most glorious moment of his life and it did not make him forget everything else in existence.

She looked at him, bewildered. “You don’t even like me.”

Jon nodded. “True.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Then why did you kiss me?” she demanded in an even tone, even though her cheeks flushed with anger.

Jon wanted to apologize. Jon wanted to say he was just a pervert who couldn’t help but desire her. “You seemed so desperate to spend time with me so I thought you know…“ The words burned at the back of his throat. This would hurt her, he didn’t want to hurt her. He just wanted her to be as angry with him as he was with her, but mainly himself.

Sansa just gaped at him for a moment, unable to believe his words.

“I might’ve started this but you happily responded Sansa. It was not all me.” He pointed out.

She got off the table and turned her back towards him. “You should go Jon.” Her voice trembled. “I never want to see your face again. Let’s ignore each other from now on.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Jon muttered before he stormed out of her father’s office.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jon raked his fingers through his hair as he pushed down on the accelerator even harder. He had been driving for few hours, still it felt as if he wasn’t far enough from Winterfell. He needed to go away even further to clear his head.

He numbly stared at the dark road ahead of him. Not a single car in sight. The only light came from his headlights.

 _Why did you kiss me?_ Her question rang in his head. He didn’t know why he kissed her. He kissed her because he was an idiot. He wanted to intimidate her into leaving and not have her bother him again—but he had also wanted to know what those lips tasted like. Turns out those lips tasted like heaven. He had been a fool to assume one kiss would end his days of agony. It did anything but end it, _it roared it to life._

Jon thought of the woman who shared his life. He had never felt more disgusted with himself. She had done nothing to deserve this. Jon dishonored her the same way his father dishonored his wife when he cheated on her with his mother. This is something Jon promised he would never do. He would be honorable unlike his father. Jon hated his father for being selfish. No love in the world could ever justify his actions. _But at least he did it for love, what did you do it for?_ He didn’t love Sansa. Whatever this feeling was that he couldn’t control, _it was a sickness not love_. Even if it felt like his every heartbeat drove him closer to her these days— it was not love. It couldn’t be. He loved Ygritte!

Only if he could put enough distance between them, he would be able to clear his head of all thoughts of her. There was a car waiting on the side by the narrow road ahead. The bright light blinded him momentarily but Jon drove on. The engine sounded like a growling beast as he pushed it to its limit.

Jon closed his eyes just for a moment, trying to adjust his vision. When he opened his eyes again there was a large animal standing on his path. Jon wasn’t sure what it was—it resembled a wolf although it was too big to be one. It had appeared like a ghost, with its white body and blazing red eyes. Jon immediately swerved to the right, trying not to collide with the beast. His screeching tires pierced into the silent night as his car crashed into the wide trunk of a tree. Jon felt the front half of his car crumple against the body of the tree. His body flung forward violently as his face hit the deployed airbag. It blocked his vision, making it impossible to see anything. All he could do was smell the smoke, and maybe oil.

Jon’s body erupted in a flurry of pain; he gasped for air, each attempt resulted in his broken ribs clawing into his lungs. His mouth tasted like copper. In the distance, he could hear the soft buzzing of his phone. There was no way he could answer the call. He couldn’t move any of his limbs. He wondered if the person would come looking for him when he…

Before Jon could finish his thought he felt the life escape his body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind words. I love reading your thoughts. It felt like I had no time last week to write. I was actually going to skip a week and then someone left a comment asking for an update. It felt so good to see that so I had to make time! Thank you for supporting me in this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't believe people read my fic. I wanted to write this story so badly but I didn't know how to write this chapter. I am glad someone asked me to update, it gave me the push needed to continue. I went back and re-did all my previous chapters. Thank you so much for staying with me. This chapter is much shorter than the others, but it is by far the most important chapter.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It was the cold that finally woke Jon up. He vaguely remembered waking up several times before. The stabbing pain in his head throbbed slowly, but violently. The smell of something festering and rotting filled his nostrils, almost making him retch. He tried to hold his breath. Ignore it. It was no use. He quickly sat up on the bed and retched on the side until nothing came up but bile.

He looked around the room. His chamber in Castle Black…Jon’s whole body trembled as he placed his feet on the cold surface of the wooden floor. The slats creaked with his weight as he stood up swaying. Feeling faint, he slumped down on the bed. He buried his face in his shaking hands, digging his fingers into his temple. He had never experienced a headache this painful.

A rough wet tongue licked his face. He looked up to find the big white wolf staring at him with its blood red eyes. “Gh—Ghost.” Jon breathed. “You brought me here. Why?” The animal remained silent as usual. He lied down and curled up by Jon’s feet.

Despite his attempts, Jon couldn’t stop shaking. He had died.

It did not make any sense because he was alive now, but he was sure he had died. He remembered two different deaths. In one, his brothers had betrayed him—he flinched as his finger trailed one of the gashes over his woolen tunic; in the other, he had gotten into a car accident. How he remembered two deaths, he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand anything right now. He was remembering two different lives as if he had lived them simultaneously. He was the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he was a lawyer in King’s Landing. It was 300 years after Aegon’s conquest, it was the year 2016.

“Jon.” He heard a woman call his name. He turned his head to see Ygritte and Melisandre standing by the door. For a moment he didn’t recognize her with her many layers of fur. Her eyes glistened with tears as she knelt down in front of him. Even Melisandre followed her and did the same after she picked up the fur from the bed and wrapped it around him.

Ygritte’s hands were painfully cold as they clutched his. He wanted to pull away. “You came back. You came back!” She sobbed. “We thought we had lost you—“

“How?” It was all Jon could manage.

“The Lord of Light brought you back.” Melisandre offered with a nervous smile. “When you died, where did you go?”

Jon stared at the woman. “I—I don’t know. I don’t know where I went.” I came from the future he wanted to tell them, but would they believe him? He had risen from the dead right in front of their eyes. They would believe anything. “I am not me. I am not me anymore. I died in the future. In the year 2016, and somehow came back here. I saw Ghost and got into an accident. When I woke up I was here.” He was rambling. Nothing he was saying made any sense but he couldn’t think of another way to explain it.

Ygritte looked at Melisandre for explanation; Melisandre simply shook her head in response. She did not know what to think either. “Perhaps you had a dream. You came back to life six nights ago, but you only woke up today.”

Jon blinked at her. It wasn’t a dream. He had lived a full life. It was not possible for a dream to be so detailed. _Neither is it possible to travel between two lifetimes_.

It was real. It was real because—because – _there was no because_. He knew about the other life just as much as he knew about this one. Suddenly the realities of this life dawned on him.  Jon gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t scream. In this life Ned Stark had been beheaded, Robb and Catelyn had been killed. Bran and Rickon too. Arya was lost, perhaps dead. All he had was Sansa… “Sansa” He said her name out loud without realizing.

Ygritte’s nails dug into his skin as she squeezed his hands. “Jon no! Not again. Your sister ran away. She will survive. You on—”

“She is not my sister.” Jon interjected.

The ladies stared at him in confusion. “She is not my sister. She is my cousin.”

“Lord Snow. I don’t under—“

“Ned Stark was not my father. He was my uncle.” He could tell she didn’t believe him. “Lyanna Stark was my mother.” Jon added.

“And who is your father?” Melisandre asked.

Rhaegar Targaryen. In both of his lives Rhaegar and Lyanna were his parents. He did not want to share this information with her. In this life, such information was dangerous. “I don’t know…” He sighed.

“Did you know Lyanna was your mother before you died?” Melisandre asked.

No he hadn’t. He just had some knowledge about the Stark family tree in the future. Especially because the Starks named the best wing of their hotel after the Queen Sansa— whose parents were Ned and Catelyn, whose siblings were Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. She had no brother or half-brother name Jon Snow.  She did have a cousin whose name was Jon. How odd that these same people who lived now will live again thousands of years later. Every single one of them. Not just the Starks, but the bloody Lannisters, Targaryens, and Tyrells as well. Even Ygritte will be by his side in the future. He looked at the woman in front of him. She looked the same. The same blue-grey eyes, same small nose, same round face. Although her hair was a lot messier in this world, and her skin not as smooth.

He had found her in both lifetimes. He belonged with her, he reminded herself. The thought should’ve comforted him, unfortunately it did no such thing.  

She noticed him staring at her. “Jon Snow…Promise me you will not leave me again. You will not do something so foolish to get yourself killed again.” She tugged his hands. “Promise me.”

He nodded his head. Jon didn’t think he had it in him to rescue anyone anyways. “I am exhausted. I think I will lie down again.”

Melisandre looked like she wanted to protest. “What is it?” Jon asked.

“It’s just people have been waiting to see you. Some don’t believe that you have returned Lord Snow.”

Jon thought about his brothers of Night’s Watch. He wondered where Alliser Thorne and the men who betrayed him were now. He didn’t care. “Let them believe what they want to believe.” He muttered harshly before lying back down again.

 

 

It was dark when Jon opened his eyes again. Still stuck in this horrid world. Unlike the movies, there wasn’t even a portal he could use to return to his other life. Maybe the other life was indeed a dream, and this nightmare of a world was the only real one. He didn’t want to be a part of it, but even death had refused to take him from here.

The dying flames from the fireplace cast a flickering golden glow around the room. He dreamed about _her_ again.  It was a different dream this time, he couldn’t recall the contents of the dream at all but he knew it was her. He wanted to fall asleep again in the hopes that the dream would continue. It was wrong to want such a dream, but it made him feel warm. For days, he had felt nothing but the biting cold—  he didn’t care at the moment if a harmless dream of Sansa was the only thing that made him feel warm.

During the day he had easily agreed to not go after Sansa, but now he felt tormented. The cold night amplified his worries. She ran away from Winterfell, where could she be now? What if she was lost in the forest? He gulped down the knot of fear.

This was not the Sansa from the future he reminded himself. This was his cousin Sansa who would become a great Queen someday. She will survive. He didn’t know how but she will survive. He tried to remember bits of information he knew about her reign from plaques at the hotel. She would marry Willas Tyrell. Even in this lifetime she will be with him, he thought bitterly. There will be no connection between Jon and her. He will most likely never see her again.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

Death had yet to return her Jon Snow. Aye his body had returned, but the boy Ygritte knew was missing.

These days he was almost as silent as his white wolf. He rarely spoke, as if speaking more than a few words drained the life out of him—what was left of it anyway. Yesterday, he had argued with Dolorous Edd about leaving the Night’s Watch. For a brief moment Jon seemed like his old frustrated self again.  

He did not talk to her very much. Several times she had been tempted to ask him about this other life he claimed to live, just so she could hear the sound of his voice. But as Melisandre had said, there was no reason for them to speak of it and make him lose touch with reality even more. He was already struggling. They were just dreams, maybe even visions of a distant future that did not affect any of them.

Jon Snow had also forgotten how to laugh. Sometimes, if she said something funny he would smile at her. A pitiful smile was the best he could give her these days.  At least he was trying; she had to be grateful for that.  

He wanted to be left alone at night. Even before his death, he had tried not to spend nights with her, fearing what his brothers might say. That had never bothered her as she had always managed to persuade him into changing his mind. A dirty whisper in his ear, a bite to his neck used to be enough to remind him that the night was too long, and far too cold to spend alone. It was not like that anymore. There was nothing she could say or offer to change the man’s mind.

She wondered if death had also destroyed his love for her— he claimed it hadn’t. Ygritte repeated her old threats to him, more as a joke than anything. He didn’t react—there was only a distant expression on his face that made her feel he did not see her.

The funny part was all of this made her love for him grow even stronger. _She loved this empty man more than ever before_. He was not the same man, but he was here—and he was hers, just as she was still his. Even death couldn’t change that.

Jon planned to go south or east; he said he needed to get warm. There wasn’t anybody left to stop him anymore. His death had ended his watch. Some of his brothers might silently question his decision, but they revered the man who defeated death way too much to stand in his way. Only Dolorous Edd continued to pester him.

The old man loomed behind Jon like a dark shadow as he packed for their departure. Jon instructed him to distribute some of the clothes he was leaving behind to the less fortunate brothers of the Night’s Watch. They would need them more than him.

They were both surprised when the loud horn blasted someone’s arrival at Castle Black. Neither knew who the gate opened for as they all headed outside, but Ygritte felt a tightening in her stomach. Something horrible was coming their way.

In the courtyard there was a young man in brown leather jerkin, and a tall woman suited in metal armour. The woman’s choppy blonde hair was shorter than the young man’s. Ygritte’s lips twisted in amusement, she thought the southron women did not dress like men, or liked to look like men.  Jon had jested how even she would have to don a silk dress south of the wall.

There was another, a shivering girl in a grey woolen dress. The girl’s hair was red like hers, but braided. Her back was turned to Ygritte. She was looking around – scanning every face until she turned and looked up their way. The terror in her eyes was suddenly replaced by recognition; she must have found the one she was looking for. It took Ygritte a moment to realize she had found Jon.

Ygritte heard him take in a sharp breath. This was _her_ then, the girl he died for…

Even with a dirty face, Ygritte could see she was a beauty. This was the type of beauty Jon Snow was used to; maybe it hadn’t been just his vows that had kept him from taking her back then. She turned to Jon when she heard his descend down the rickety wooden stairs. His eyes were fixated on the girl as if—she was all he could see at the moment. To her surprise, he walked into the courtyard, but froze midway—too scared to take another step toward her.

Ygritte wanted to shout out that they should all go inside, get warm. The three of them needed a wash, food and drink to warm their bellies. Before she could speak a small cry escaped the girl’s lips. She suddenly moved towards Jon, and he immediately lifted her off the ground to hold her in a tight, hungry and desperate embrace. 

She heard herself inhale loudly. Surely such force would crush the girl’s ribs. The stab wounds on his chest hadn’t healed yet, he flinched anytime anyone went near him, and here he was, suffocating the girl with his fierce embrace.

He hadn’t embraced Ygritte like that after returning from death. He hadn’t embraced her like that when she woke up after surviving the deadly battle wounds from Olly’s arrows. He had _never_ held her like that.

A small bit of resentment crept up within her, but right away guilt followed those dark thoughts.  This girl was his sister – or had been once upon a time—it didn’t matter; she was the _only_ family he had left.

The pair remained locked in their embrace, oblivious to the crowd that circled them. The girl thrust her filthy fingers into his pretty curls and nuzzled at his cheeks, something Ygritte had never been able to do in front of his brothers.

It had probably been just two or three minutes, but to Ygritte it felt hours had passed before the large blonde woman tapped on the girl’s shoulder. He didn’t let her go right away, not even when the girl tried to break away. Eventually he had to release her. The girl swayed as she stepped away from Jon. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and Ygritte saw the girl’s legs give away—but before she could collapse to the ground Jon caught her in his arms one more time. The tall woman stepped forward to take the girl, but Jon had already lifted her into his arms.

No wonder southron women _swooned_ …

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ramsay’s fingers felt like frozen steel around her neck—maybe this time he will finally choke the life out of her. She tried not to gasp for air, but her traitorous body wouldn’t obey. It wanted to survive—who knows for what…

Someone kept calling her name.  Angry tears rolled down her cheeks. _Did someone come to save her at last?_ She couldn’t understand what the person was saying...Just her name.

“Sansa! Sansa wake up. It’s a nightmare. Wake up! Sansa.”

 _A nightmare_ … Sansa opened her eyes and Ramsay vanished from top of her. There was only Jon, lightly shaking her.

“Jon!” she gasped, half sobbing. “Am I dreaming of you again?” she asked, still in a fog.

He lifted her off the bed and pulled her in a tight embrace. “Not a dream. I am here. I will keep you safe. I promise.” He crooned.  His hand stroked the back of her head. “I promise sweet girl.”

“I thought I was back in Winterfell, with him” she cried. “I thought he had me again,” she pulled back to look at him, choking on her sobs.

“Shh… No one will ever have you again.” He cradled her face against his chest. “He will _never_ have you again.” He whispered hoarsely against her ear. “I promise. I promise.” His arms tightened around her, gently rocking her back and forth as if she was a child of four again.

 _I am safe_ she told herself _. I can stop crying now_ —but the sobs only grew stronger with each promise. Her body shook violently no matter how hard she tried to stay still. Within moments her sobs grew hysterical until she was loudly howling in Jon’s arms.  

She didn’t even have the privilege to cry over her loved ones. How could she when she declared her family traitors—where could she cry when the ones who killed her family were sharing her bed at night. This is what her life had become.

She curled into Jon, digging her long fingernails into his leather jerkin. Her nails must’ve scratched him, yet he only pulled her closer, stroking her back with his warm hands.

“They killed everyone Jon. They killed everyone! I don’t even know where Arya, Bran and Rickon are. They are lost.” She cried incoherently against his chest. “How will I ever find them? They are lost.”

She cried for Arya, for little Bran and Rickon. For the father they beheaded in front of her very eyes, for her mother and for Robb. She cried for the home they had all foolishly left behind. She would never again feel the loving warmth of her sweet family. They were good, _so good_. They didn’t deserve such tragedy.  

And lastly, Sansa cried for herself. She cried for the girl she once was, before she became a plaything for men like Jeoffry, Littlefinger and Ramsay; before they ravaged her body and soul.

She didn’t know how long she cried for— or when she drifted off to sleep again. When she woke up, Jon was still there, sitting by her side. She immediately wanted to jump into his arms again; she wanted to surround herself with him so not even the cold air could touch her. Then she remembered who they were—or who she had been before all of this happened.

 _I am the girl who always reminded him that he wasn’t one of us._ Yet he had held her when she cried.

She slowly sat up on the bed. When the furs slipped down to her waist, she realized she was only in her linen shift. She thought about pulling the furs back up to cover her exposed arms, but Jon was staring at her ugly bruises. They were all different colors, some pink, some blue, some black.

“Presents from Ramsay. They will heal.” She tried to smile. “These are not that bad.” These won’t even leave permanent scars, unlike the other ones.

She wondered if he heard what she said, then his jaw clenched and nostrils flared. He stood up abruptly without meeting her gaze, and walked over to the table to grab something from a bag.

He returned to her with a woolen tunic. “I had your dress washed. It’s not dry yet.” He said in an even tone. “Wear this for now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After dinner Jon had wanted to leave Sansa alone for the night —yet he couldn’t make himself walk away from her. His heart still clenched painfully within his chest; how will he ever forget how she broke down in his arms? Her anguished screams will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Few times he opened his mouth to talk to her, but he found himself absolutely silent. She seemed so content staring at the small fireplace as she brushed Ghost’s coat with her fingers. He didn’t want to take the blissful look away from her face. Not yet. So instead, he watched her. He couldn’t stop watching her.

She was humming a little tune. The firelight flickered and danced over her lovely face, turning her flame-hued hair golden. She had washed it before dinner. His breath caught in his throat when she turned to meet his eyes. She smiled—and a new kind of pain crept around his heart, a sweet kind of pain he had not known before. For a moment he thought he would never breathe around her again.

 _She was so pure, so beautiful…_  How could someone ever hurt something so beautiful?

He shut his eyes as the images of her bruises flashed before his eyes. _These are not that bad_ she had said _._  The scars she hid underneath her clothes were probably worse. Anger stabbed at him like a driven nail—he wanted to scream, scream until his lungs would give out. He didn’t know exactly who he was angry at. The animals who used her, the good men who left her behind. Everyone. Even himself.

Her eyes widened. “You are angry.” She whispered, bringing her hands to cover his clenched fists. “Why are you angry?”

 _I should’ve come for you. Robb should’ve come for you. Your father should’ve never taken you to King’s Landing_.

“Are you angry at me? You don’t want me here?” She was busy trying to unclench his fingers. “I will leave.”

No he wanted to yell out, but he couldn’t find the ability to speak. A rush of longing swept over him as his gaze dipped down to her quivering lips.  _Such a mistake_ —he wanted to kiss her. He had kissed those lips before, maybe not those exact ones, but they looked the same. He wanted to kiss her again to see if these lips tasted the same. Maybe he will kiss her again…

No he wouldn’t.

Wasn’t this the very thing he was running away from in his other life? Jon sighed and shook his head bitterly. That life was gone; there was no point in remembering that life.  In this life she was a different woman, his half-sister— _cousin_.

“Sansa” His voice cracked. “I have to tell you something.”  _I have to tell you many things_. Where would he even start? She wouldn’t believe him. Maybe he should tell her another night…

He took a deep breath. “I died. Some of my Night’s Watch brothers, they mutinied against me and they killed me. I was truly dead. Then the Red Priestess Melisandre brought me back to life using her magic.”

She was listening to him with a blank expression. “I know it sounds absurd. I know you probably don’t believe me but I am telling the truth. I can show you where they stabbed me—“

“I believe you.” She said slowly. She hesitantly raised her hand to his cheek. “I believe you.”

He wanted to tell her it was okay if she did not believe him, but the look in her eyes told him that she truly believed him. There, she believed him. He should’ve left it at that, but he hadn’t spoken for days, not more than few words. And although everyone at Castle Black believed his resurrection, they did not seem to believe his other stories.

“I am not your brother.” He blurted out.  “I am not Ned Stark’s son. He lied all these years. I am Lyanna Stark’s son.”

Her eyes slowly widened. “That’s not possible— Father wouldn’t lie about something so huge.” Her brows drew into a scowl.

“It is. I haven’t told anyone this. I am Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen’s son. I don’t know for sure why your father lied but I assume it was to protect his Targaryen nephew from Robert Baratheon.”

Sansa shook her head. “No! Jon no!” Her voice rose, blue eyes flashed with anger. “You have always been father’s son. How do you even know this?” she hissed.

Jon really did not want to share this part. Why did he even bother to tell her he was not her brother?   _Because you don’t want her to think of you as her brother._

“I didn’t just die Sansa. I think—I was pulled back from another lifetime.” He raked his finger through his hair. He was still struggling to make sense of it himself, how could he explain it to her? “I come from the future and by then everyone knows I am Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son.” He doesn’t have it in him to explain further.

“That is unbelievable. That doesn’t make any sense. That is impossible.”

He snorted. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

She said nothing to dispute him. Of course she would say nothing. He was asking too much of her. He knew it. No one believed him. Not Ygritte, not Tormund, Davos, Edd, or even Melisandre who dabbled in the impossible.

“I believe you.” She said softly. He barely heard her.

His chest tightened in a strange way. “Why?” he asked with a shaky smile.

“I don’t know. My heart says so.”

He sucked in his breath.  _She believed him_.

She held his gaze for a long time, finally breaking away when Ghost shifted in her lap.

He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “I should leave. You should get back to bed.”

“This is your chamber. Where will you go?”

“I will find a place.”

“Stay.” She looked up at him. “Just for tonight. Stay with me. I don’t want to go to bed alone. Please.”

He knew the last thing he should do is get in bed with Sansa, not when a part of him still wanted to kiss her so badly every time he looked at those rosy lips. But Jon felt his body ache with longing. Just for one night he wanted to be close to her, as close as possible. It had little to do with desiring her physically. He just wanted to hold her, talk to her. Talk about the family he lost, talk about the life he lost.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jon Snow was not her brother, but then again he had never been her brother. She never let him; he had always been just her father’s bastard son. The one she always stayed away from. Growing up she had more conversations with Theon than with Jon.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” Sansa gulped. It felt odd to lie down facing him, his eyes made her nervous, and—curiously _giddy_.

She was grateful that he had said yes, she didn’t want to be alone tonight. Or any night. Still, a part of her mind reminded her that this was not the most proper thing to do. He was a man who was not her brother—but Jon wasn’t just any man. Jon was Jon, he was her family and she knew she was safe with him.

“I told you I don’t sleep at night, so I guess that is all I will be doing tonight.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and then burst into a small giggle. He only responded with a smile, a breathtaking smile Sansa decided, the kind of smile that might thaw the ice in one’s cold heart.

“You have the most beautiful smile you know” Sansa heard herself blurt out. She instantly wanted to close her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his expression, but her words made him blush like a shy maiden. And she couldn’t look away.

A bubble of laughter escaped her. “Jon! Are you truly blushing? I haven’t blushed like that since I was two-and-ten!” She covered her mouth as her body shook. “Gods! It is a good thing you joined the Night’s Watch. I don’t know how you would have ever managed with the ladies. I will have to teach you a thing or two.” She said, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes.

She didn’t notice when the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. “You are stunning.”

“W-what?”

“You have got to be the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon.” His voice was low and intense. “A man could drown in those eyes of yours you know. They are exquisite.”

“What are you talking about?” She stuttered. She felt her cheeks getting warmer.

“I would like to write songs about your beauty.”

Someone must’ve lit a dozen fires around her, she felt hot—everywhere. Even her thin shift felt like too much clothing. “You are a terrible writer.” Sansa scowled. What had gotten into him…

“I know,” he murmured. “But I wish I could write, just so I could write about you. Although no words could do justice to your beauty.”

“Jon!” she had meant to sound outraged, but his name came out as a soft whimper. This was so not proper.

His eyes glinted with mischief.  _She knew this look!_  She had seen it many times when Robb, Jon and Theon would create trouble.

“Your beauty overwhelms me. I feel as if I can’t breathe when you are around me Sansa,” he said, edging closer to her. It truly felt as if he had just struggled to breathe. The intensity in his grey eyes sent a shiver down her spine. She no longer knew what was happening. She should push him away, tell him this is not funny but she wanted to know more. An unknown sensation flared in her, completely flooding her brain so she couldn’t think.

One more inch and their noses would’ve touched, he suddenly pulled back. “ _I haven’t blushed like that since I was two-and-ten!_ ” he mimicked her earlier statement, and then burst out laughing. “Your whole body is blushing Sansa.”

She stared at him in disbelief,  _he had been joking!_  She had lost the ability to speak or _think_ but he had been joking!

“You are such an ass Jon Snow!” she hissed, pummeling him—not caring where her fists hit.

Jon continued to laugh. Her fists did little damage to him, but then he winced. “Ah! Stab wound…”

Sansa gasped, covering her mouth. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry! I am so stup—“

“Sansa. I am fine. Look I am fine.” He pulled her towards him until her head was resting on his broad chest. “I am fine.” He assured her.

His hand stroked her hair again, occasionally stroking her back. Every time he touched her, she felt overwhelmed with emotions—she wanted to cry again. How odd that she had never embraced him before. How could she have lived this long without knowing his touch? This man was so loving, and gentle.

Sansa rubbed her cheek against the hard muscles of his chest; she could hear the soft thuds of his heart. She wished she could get closer to him, even though physically that was impossible. She just wanted more of him, more of his scent, more of this warmth, more of Jon.

They shared stories, one after another. She told him of the people she met, the friends and the foes. She kept the stories about her marriages short, there wasn’t much to say. The story about her father was the hardest. She talked a lot about the Tyrells, and about that snake Littlefinger. She told him almost everything she could think of. He told her of his time beyond the wall, of battles against giants, and wildlings. He talked about his death and how he felt empty.  Some stories terrified Sansa, others made her laugh, especially the ones about his best friend Sam. He did not say much about the future other than that they weren’t friends. The knowledge made her frown, but at least they were all alive, and he was still in her life.

Soon he stopped stroking her hair, he was drowsy, she could tell. His answers to her questions became shorter and shorter. She didn’t want to let him go just yet, after tonight she wouldn’t have any excuse to share a bed with him. She tightened her arms around him, desperately clinging to him.

“Jon where will you go?” She whispered.

For a moment he didn’t answer. Sansa was afraid he had already fallen asleep.  Then he whispered back. “Wherever you go.”

Sansa swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I want to go back to Winterfell. I want to take it back from the Boltons.” She wanted to go home. Maybe if she went home her brothers and sister will come back home. How else would they find her? She didn't even know where they were. 

“No. I already died once, twice actually. I don’t feel like dying again Sansa. Not now. We can’t go back to Winterfell.”

“We will get an army Jon. We will take it back. You and I.” she gave him a gentle shake.

Jon groaned. He turned on his side, forcing Sansa to lift her head from his chest. Still, she clung to him.

“Please Jon! We have to go back. Winterfell is ours.”

“It’s yours, not mine. I won’t go back there Sansa.” Jon mumbled.

Sansa bit her lower lip, trying to force the tears in her eyes to stay put. She pulled her arms away from him.  

“I will do it alone then.” She whispered. She didn’t know if it was a question or a statement. Either way he didn’t respond.

The sun was coming up now. She could see him better. Such a handsome face, the girls were fools to fall for Robb when he existed. She touched the long scar by his brow. There was a dull ache within her heart—and she couldn’t figure out why.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult for many reasons. 1. I have a hard time writing (as you know). 2. I didn't know where to end it. I didn't want these characters to seem bipolar that they are happy one second and crying the next second but I did think they were going through a lot. They were feeling all these emotions one after another. Basically they were a mess, just like me. Please overlook any grammatical errors. 
> 
> I truly cannot thank you guys enough for your feedback. Just few months ago I was absolutely terrified of writing anything. and now well I am less terrified now :) So THANK YOU!! Seriously, thank you!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated

 

 

The gust of wind tickled Sansa’s face and somehow managed to creep under the layers of clothing she wore this morning. She pulled the cloak tighter around her body, sinking her chin into the fur collar. It smelled like Jon—if she closed her eyes, she could feel his presence, his warmth.

She was tired of staying in her room all day, chatting with Brienne and sewing. Brienne wasn’t a big chatter, so Sansa spent most of her day in silence. Jon visited her at least twice a day to make sure she was alright. He brought her books from the Castle Black library so she would have another thing to occupy her time with.

She could not leave Castle Black because Ramsay’s men might be anywhere. She did not feel comfortable walking around within the castle walls because of all the strange men. The only time she got a breath of fresh air was here, as Brienne guarded the iron cage. It was the coldest on top of the wall—even during the day.  She did not understand how men stood here at night to patrol the area. The brothers of the Night’s Watch were nothing like the honorable black knights of the songs, still she pitied them.

 _Winter is coming_. Or maybe it was here already. For someone who always hated the cold, Sansa was starting to find great comfort in it— it made her feel stronger.

Ghost circled around her couple of times, before settling down by her feet. She couldn’t help but smile at the wolf. “You too Ghost. You make me feel stronger as well.”

Sansa looked to her side and sighed; it was impossible to tell where the wall actually ended. It stretched for as far as her eye could see, until everything became a beautiful blur. Many days had passed since she first came up here, still the sight around her left her breathless. In King’s Landing she used to love staring out to the sea, here it was the endless amount of empty space, covered by a blanket of pure white snow.

She loved coming here to think—and she needed to do a lot of thinking at the moment. Jon wanted to go to Essos, and take her with him. They would be free he had said, free, safe, and warm… The words made her want to smile and cry.

She could run with Jon, go to Essos, go to the ends of the world, but she still wouldn’t be free. Her thoughts would accompany her, they would continue to haunt her, torment her mercilessly. How could she forget what they did to her parents, her brothers, her sister, her—that’s all she thought about day and night, what they took from her. She didn’t want to run away anymore, she wanted to go home. She wanted to take back what they took from her.

Littlefinger’s words rang through her head. _There is no justice in the world, unless we make it._

Littlefinger. She thought about the letter she had received this morning. He was on his way to see her, to feed her pretty lies again she assumed. She had thought about meeting him a hundred times since the day she married Ramsay. She wanted to hurt him the way his actions had hurt her. She wanted to—

“So this is where you have been hiding.”

She had been too lost in her thoughts to hear Jon approach her. She took a moment before turning her head to look at him.

“You shouldn’t be roaming around this castle all alone Sansa.” He muttered. 

That is all he cared about. Her safety. _Don’t go here, don’t go there, don’t be alone_. “I am not alone. Ghost is with me.” She said quickly.

If he noticed the sharp tone in her voice, he ignored it. Instead he smiled at her and then looked at Ghost. “So this is where the traitor has been all morning. I think he is in love—hasn’t left your side since you arrived.”

 _But you have_ , she thought sadly. _Of course he had to leave your side you idiot girl_ , she chastised herself immediately. Despite his decision to leave, he was still considered the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch among his brothers. He couldn’t ignore his responsibilities and stay attached to her side.

“Speaking of love, I finally met your wildling wife.”

“My wild—Ygritte?”

“Heard you stole her. I guess you two are married beyond the wall. ” _How romantic_ , she wanted to add bitterly.

“We are not married.” He muttered evasively, turning his head away from her. He was admiring the sight as well.

Ygritte had found her yesterday, stood at the exact same spot Jon was standing now. She had many tales to share about Jon… they had climbed this massive wall, _fucked_ under the stars, in a cave. She even put three arrows in him that nearly took his life. Sansa wondered how one could shoot three arrows into someone she loved. 

“Jon… Why didn’t you tell me about her?” she found herself asking the question, despite telling herself many times it didn’t matter why he didn’t tell her. She had no right to hold something so small against him.

His shoulders rose in a lazy shrug. “I—it just never came up I guess.”

Sam came up, Edd, Pyp, Grenn, Melisandre, Mance Rayder, hell even Tormund came up—somehow Ygritte didn’t come up. He told her of his time beyond the wall and purposely left her out.

“Why does it matter?” His voice low and hoarse, but not angry.

Sansa felt her lips tighten at the corners. She knew this didn’t matter, yet it made her angry. “You are right. It doesn’t.”

Sansa was about to walk away when Jon grabbed her by her arm. “Stay, just for a bit. Please Sansa.”

She wanted to pull away and leave but she made the mistake of looking at his handsome grim face.  One look and she found herself nodding yes.

They stood in silence for some time before he spoke. “It’s beautiful. Isn’t?” He didn’t wait for her response. “Before I left Winterfell, I told Bran we would see the Wall together someday.”

She swallowed down the painful lump in her throat and turned to look at him. _Her sweet little Bran_.

“I wish he was here Sansa. I wish I could do this with him before leaving the wall. I think he would’ve liked the wall. Maybe he could’ve climbed the wall.” His grey eyes glistened with tears, but nothing came out. He laughed. “Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t climb, could he?”

Sansa bit her lower lip as she tried to stop her own tears from rolling down her cheeks. Jon turned to look at her and abruptly closed the gap between them. His arms wrapped around the small of her back as he drew her close to him.

Her fingernails bit into her palm, her inside burned with anger. “They took everything from us Jon.” she hissed. "Everything!"

“No they haven’t. I still have you.”

After a moment he pulled his head back and cupped her face. He lightly brushed her wet cheeks with his calloused thumb. Sansa found herself leaning in, and closing her eyes. Only if she could stay like this forever, then maybe it would be enough. When she opened her eyes again, something changed in his dark grey eyes. There was something Sansa couldn’t quite understand.

He brushed her cheeks again, this time with his warm lips. Sansa barely felt the touch but she heard herself suck in a sharp breath and then oddly enough—she couldn’t breathe again. _Breathe you fool or you will faint again._

“So soft.” She felt his breathy whisper against her cheek. His lips brushed their way up to her forehead. “Exactly the same.” She heard him murmur.  

“What is exactly the same?”

“Your skin, still just as soft as the other life. Smells just as lovely. ”

He was talking about the other life again. She pulled her head back. “How would you know? You said we didn’t even talk to each other.”

Jon’s arms fell to his side. It was as if her question had broken the beautiful magical spell he was under. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed them again.

“Tell me how you know?”

“Well…I can see it.” He mumbled nervously.

“You are lying. You have done this before. I want to know how.”

“Sansa...” Jon groaned.

“Jon! Tell me. I won’t sleep at night if you don’t tell me. Do you not want me to sleep tonight? I won’t stop pestering you until you tell me.”

“We kissed once!” He yelled out.

Sansa’s lips parted in shock. They kissed once… Her mouth felt dry as she swallowed convulsively. That is ridiculous, but it didn’t sound so ridiculous.

Jon threw his arms in the air. “Now everything is going to be weird between us. I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable.”

After all that she has been through, this silly man thinks this would make her uncomfortable. Sansa sputtered with laughter. “We kissed. You and I? How did that happen?”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Why did we kiss? It’s odd to kiss someone you supposedly don’t even talk to. Unless we had feelings for each other. Do we have feelings for each other?”

“No.” Jon shook his head. “You are actually in a relationship with Willas Tyrell.”

“Willas Tyrell!” Sansa grinned. “We were to marry once you know. It is strange that I am with him in my other life since we never even met here.” Jon turned his gaze away from her. _Unless_ —“Does this mean I will find him here too? You already know what will happen, don’t you?”

Jon didn’t answer. “And who are you with?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Ygritte.”

“Oh…” _Your wildling wife_. Despite her best effort, the smile on her face slowly faded.

“Will you have dinner with us tonight?” Jon asked quickly. “Everyone is starting to think you are not  real.”

“Good. I want to keep it that way. Out of sight, out of mind. I don’t want anyone to notify Ramsay, though I am sure he knows.”

“It will just be the people I trust the most. Stop having dinner alone Sansa. Join us.” He paused. “Unless sitting with us is beneath Lady Stark.”

Sansa rolled eyes and then laughed. “I will have dinner with you guys. Brienne and Pod will come too.”

Jon smiled. “I will see you tonight then.”

 _Yes tonight_. Sansa let out a long slow breath after he left.

 

 

* * *

 

Jon was tapping his fingers on the table—he was nervous. Ygritte almost threatened to cut off his fingers if he didn’t stop. He reminded Tormund again not to stab his meat, burp, to chew with his mouth closed, to refer to Sansa as my lady, and not to make any crass jokes. Ser Davos also gave him his share of advice. Instead of mocking their kneeler customs, Tormund was more than happy to go along as he wanted to impress a certain Southron lady himself. He hadn’t said anything but Ygritte knew. He hadn’t been the same since the Blonde one arrived at the wall. Just like Jon, who hadn’t been the same since Sansa’s arrival.

When Sansa Stark entered with Brienne and Podrick, Jon Snow immediately stood up. Tormund followed the gesture.

“You don’t have to stand Jon.” Ygritte heard Sansa laugh, but he remained standing. Ygritte had the urge to pull him down.

“You look beautiful.” He breathed. “Is that a new dress?”

Ygritte turned her head to look at the girl. She did, she looked beautiful. Her dark green dress embraced the curves of her body before flaring out at her waist. Her loose hair resembled a stream of red-gold as it touched her waist, even in the dimly lit room it couldn’t help but shine.

“I made it myself. Do you like it?”

“I like the wolf bit.” Jon said with a grin that made Ygritte feel sick.

“Will we ever eat tonight?” She heard herself grumble.

Jon’s brows drew into a scowl but he apologized for holding them up. He seated Sansa to his left, while Ygritte occupied the seat on his right. Tormund had left the seat on his right empty, hoping Brienne would sit there but she shoved Pod toward that seat as she sat down beside Dolorous Edd.

Jon was sitting between both of them but he was slightly turned towards Sansa. Now and then he would say something to Sansa that would make her laugh, a soft and sweet laugh, just like her. He didn’t exactly whisper it like a secret but whatever it was that he said, it was meant for her ears only. No one else seemed to notice, or care. No one commented on how he actually talked more these days. He also laughed. It was as if death had taken away his ability to talk and laugh and this girl had returned them.

“If it is something funny, you should share it with the whole table Jon Snow.” Ygritte muttered, failing to hide the bitterness in her voice.

Everyone looked up from their food as an awkward silence fell over the table.

Jon took a sip of his ale and then cleared his throat. “I was just talking about Winterfell—“

Ygritte ignored him. She leaned forward to look at Sansa. “He wanted to take me there. He told me I would swoon if I ever saw how big your castles are.”

After an awkward moment of silence Sansa smiled. “Maybe someday you will get to see Winterfell. It is beautiful. Or used to be at least.” Her smile faded as she spoke the last words, and instantly Jon’s hand covered her small fist. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I won’t ever see Winterfell. Jon and I will leave this fucking land soon. We don't want to rot here.”

She saw the girl’s body tense, but the smile returned. This one didn’t reach her eyes however. “You are right,” she said softly.

Everything became a blur after that. Sansa carried on conversations with Ser Davos about the North, about King’s Landing, about Stannis. Melisandre shifted uncomfortably on her seat but she remained silent. They were amazed how she had managed to survive for so long. Ygritte snorted bitterly but no one noticed. She survived the same way Jon Snow survived beyond the wall. She pretended to be one of their own, and at the first chance she got, she ran. Just like him…

They all remained seated at the table after dinner.

Ygritte looked over her shoulder for Jon. He was sitting beside her, but by now she could no longer see his face, only his back. He was turned toward Sansa.

If she didn’t know better she would think he was in love with this girl. The thought made Ygritte feel sick in the stomach. No…he didn’t love Sansa. He was just trying to protect her. That is what Jon does. He laughed again, it was something Sansa said. Ygritte didn’t hear what she said to fill this empty man with so much joy that he laughed. Her and Jon used to laugh, but never like that.

It suddenly became too much. Ygritte felt dizzy and before she could move away she retched on the table.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Everyone moved away from the table, except for Jon. His fingers curled around Ygritte’s shoulder, with concern.

“Ygritte! Are you alright? Someone get me some water.”

She mumbled something and then retched couple more times, emptying the contents of her stomach on to the table. Jon gathered her hair and held it up so it wouldn’t get dirty.

“I want to go to bed.” Ygritte finally managed to say. “Take me to bed.” She tried to stand up but was too weak.

“I will do it.” Jon lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room. Melisandre followed them.

“That was just disgusting.” Pod said after a loud sigh. “I don’t think I want to sit at this table again.”

Dolorous Edd barked out orders to have the table cleaned.

They all stood frozen for a moment, before Tormund started laughing. “You don’t think she is with child, do you?”

Sansa didn’t know who the question was directed to. Tormund was staring at the door.

“Aye. I think she is with child. Her and Jon Snow have been fucking for a while now. It is very possible she is with child. She loves that boy. I don’t think she took anything to prevent it. Ygritte doesn't get sick.”

Sansa wanted to say maybe it was the disgusting food. Ygritte could be sick for a number of reasons, but Tormund was right. Ygritte _could be_ with child. Sansa should be happy. Jon would be a father—he would be a wonderful father, brave, gentle and strong.

“He will need to leave Castle Black soon if he is going to be a father. It’s one thing to bed a woman, another to father a child within these walls.” Ser Davos added.

 

 

 

That night Sansa absentmindedly carded her fingers through Ghost’s fur as the animal slept beside her. After all that Jon had been through, he deserved to be happy. She wanted him to be happy.

She abruptly sat up on her bed when there was a knock on her door. A Night’s Watch brother wouldn’t be foolish enough to barge into her room, not when Brienne slept next door and Ghost was here with her.

“Sansa, are you sleeping?”

She barely heard the question, it was Jon. Quickly rising from the bed, she wrapped his cloak around her before opening the door.

He looked disheveled, his hair no longer in a tight bun. He entered the room quietly and sat down on the bed.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Jon muttered looking at the ground.

 _Neither could I_ , she wanted to add. “Lie down here for a while.”  She pushed him down on the bed. He went down without any complaint. Ghost was taking up the other half of the bed, leaving no space for Sansa to lie down.

“What about you?” Jon asked.

Sansa looked around. “I will just sit by you.”

“No you won’t” He moved toward Ghost as much he could, creating a bit of space. Then he grabbed her wrist, pulling her off-balance until she fell on top of him. He winced as her body hit him.

“Jon! Have you gone mad?” Sansa squealed.

“Shh. Just stay here for a bit.” His arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer. “Just like this.”

“Jon. Your wounds—“

“Shh.” His arms tightened.

There was no use fighting him—she didn’t want to fight him. She was his safe place, just as he was hers. She adjusted to a more comfortable position, half of her body still on his.

Sansa waited for a moment before she spoke. “How is Ygritte?”

“Better I think. She is sleeping.”

 _You should go to her. She will need you_. Sansa opened her mouth to say all these things but the words didn’t come out.

He caught her gaze and smiled. “Say it. Say what you want to say.”

Sansa licked her lower lip. “Do you think Ygritte is with child?”

“No.” His voice cracked. “I haven’t been with her in over a moon, and I have always been so careful.”

Sansa rubbed her palm over his chest to calm him. After a moment she could feel the pounding of his heart slowing beneath her fingers. “You will be a great father Jon, and Ygritte will be a great mother. She is brave and strong just like you. The child will be strong.”

“The child will be a bastard.” He whispered hoarsely.

“No. The child will be whatever you want it to be. When you go to Essos, no one will know. You can be whoever you want to be.”

“You can be whoever you want to be as well.”

 _I am Sansa Stark. I will always be Sansa Stark_. She still hadn’t told him she won’t go with him. Well she did—first couple of days. The argument always turned unpleasant, so Sansa had been avoiding it. He would eventually know the truth anyways.

She looked up to meet his eyes, he was staring at her again. She loved it.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me you know.” Jon whispered. It seemed like he wanted to say more but he stopped. She wished he hadn’t said anything at all. She sucked in a small breath and tried ignore the flutter in her stomach. _Breathe…_

“In this life or the other life?” she tried to ask casually.

Jon thought for a moment. “In this life.” He grinned. “You were hard to deal with in the other life.”

“Why did we kiss each other Jon, if we are in love with different people?” Sansa heard herself asking. Deep down she probably knew the answer, but she was too afraid to look for it. Things were so simple between her and Jon, so easy—she wanted to keep it that way.

“I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. There was the same look in his eyes again, the one Sansa hadn’t quite understood when they were standing on top of the Wall, but she did now. It was desire—Jon desired her.

With her heart beating wildly, she tilted her head up and brushed the lightest kiss on his lips. This was wrong, he loved another—but she just wanted to know. She wanted to know what those lips felt like on hers. She might not get another chance to find out.

She heard him inhale sharply. Before she could move back to look at him and apologize, he raised his head —and his lips claimed hers.

His mouth on her was warm, and hard. At the very first taste of him, desire jolted through her. She had made a mistake by kissing him. She found herself sliding her arms around his neck, feeling the warm skin under her fingers in the process. She buried her fingers into his soft curls, twisting them slightly. She had wanted to do this for some time now.

“Sansa…” He sounded as if he was in pain. Before she could apologize, he growled and rolled her over. Sansa found herself on her back, pinned beneath his weight, panting and gasping.

Jon leaned down and kissed her again, this time with more pressure. He swept his tongue past her lips, tasting, teasing and tempting her until she was ready to cry. She heard herself groaning in a way she had never done before. His lips closed over her tongue, sucking it into his warm mouth.

How was it possible for a kiss to be like this? She hadn’t been kissed too many times, but she had heard about the great kisses. None of them were described like this. An inexplicable sob clogged Sansa’s throat.

She almost cried out in protest when his lips left hers, but they immediately moved to the side of her throat. His beard brushed against her soft skin, gently tickling it as his warm mouth closed over the skin of her throat. A new sensation awakened within her, and spread to her head, breasts, stomach, groin, toes.

“Jon…” she gasped as she looked into his eyes. His grey eyes dangerously darkened with desire.   

“I want to kiss you forever. I _could_ kiss you forever.” He whispered. His mouth took possession of her swollen lips again and Sansa almost smiled. She could too if this is what his kisses were like.

She tightened her arms around his neck as her breasts pressed against his chest. She was in her linen night gown and he was only in his woolen tunic. For a cold winter night at the Wall those clothes were not nearly enough, but at the moment they felt like too much. She wanted to feel his bare skin underneath her fingers.   

She gasped when she felt Jon’s hand slowly move up her leg, pushing her gown up. His warm hand palmed her right buttock, kneading the flesh with his fingers. Her breathing quickened as did his. She had never thought she would enjoy a man’s touch, but this— _she wanted this_. She wanted his hands on her, she wanted him to touch her.

“Sansa, you have to tell me to stop. I have no self-control when it comes to you,” his voice hoarse against her collarbone. “Tell me to stop.”

“No.” She whispered through dry lips. “Please don’t stop. I don’t want you to sto—“

No more words. He kissed her again, this time more urgent as his right hand closed over her breast, gently squeezing the firm flesh. Sansa arched into his palm.

Breathing hard, he pressed his lips at the corner of her mouth. “I want you so bad I think I will die.”

 _I will too_ she thought, _at this rate I will die as well_. She was too lost in her pleasure to notice how his hand had started tugging her nightgown. He tugged until her breasts were exposed to his view.  She felt his warm breath against her collarbone before he dipped down to draw one of the hardened tips into his mouth. Sansa’s knees buckled and she clutched his shoulders.

He traced the peak with his hot tongue, and gently scraped it with his teeth. This was a new kind of torture. Her eyes grew dazed, as her lips parted with a soft cry. She rolled her hips against his, welcoming the hard erection against her trembling body. She needed more.

When Jon lifted his hips, and she lost the friction she found herself crying out in protest. He dipped down to her ear. “Don’t worry sweet girl, I will take care of you.” His whisper burned against her skin.

She didn’t know what he meant by taking care of her. His warm hand was on her thigh, caressing, cupping, gently pressuring them to open wider. When he slid his finger along the seam of her needful flesh she almost jerked out of bed.

“Jon!!” she squeaked, her nails dug into his arms.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Sansa shook her head. Jon smiled and placed a light kiss on her lips. "You are so beautiful, so damn beautiful"

He stroked her with his long finger, circled, and flicked the little bud before rubbing it mercilessly. Each movement of his finger ignited the fire in her flood. Sansa grasped at the fur beneath her, so she wouldn’t have to dig her nails into him.

She screamed out his name when he slipped his finger inside of her. He grinned with satisfaction as her body jerked and tensed around him.

“You woke Ghost up.” He chuckled. She felt Ghost leave the bed. She should be horrified, but she felt nothing but the sweet torture this man was inflicting on her. His finger was gently gliding in and out of her, soon there were two fingers. When he stroked the aching bud with this thumb, Sansa wanted to scream.

“You are so wet Sansa.” He groaned hoarsely, sucking on her shoulder.

He plunged his fingers into her faster, and deeper. Sansa rolled her hips, feeling as if her entire body was going to burst in any moment. She wanted to tell him to stop this torture before she passes out, but the words wouldn’t come out. She could only moan out his name. His fingers curled inside her. Every time he jerked his hand up, his palm rubbed over her swollen bud.

Just when Sansa thought there was no way she could take this anymore it came upon her. Every muscle in her body tightened, and then she simply splintered into a thousand pieces with his name on her lips.

He held her close as she collapsed beneath him. His breath was still coming in harsh rasps. He moved to her side and pulled her on top of him.

It took a long time for their breathing to slow down.

 _I don't think I will never be the same again_. She wanted to smile from joy even as her heart broke with the knowledge. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jon helped Ygritte drink the mutton broth during lunch. She hasn’t been able to keep her food down since last night. “I think I am going to die Jon Snow.” Ygritte groaned.

“You are not going to die.” Jon assured her.

“I have never felt this sick in my life.” Ygritte mumbled. “Tormund thinks I might be with child.”

Jon froze. Tormund has a big mouth. “A—are you?”

“I could be. I won’t know for another two weeks. Will you be happy if I have your child Jon Snow? Maybe we will have a son. Or a daughter.” Ygritte smiled wistfully. “Which would you prefer?”

Jon looked at her blankly.

Her smiling face slowly turned bitter when he didn’t answer. “You always smile with her, you talk with her. Why can’t you do the same around me?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Jon knew who this _her_ was without asking. He felt his mouth go dry.

He didn’t know why—things were just easy with Sansa. She knew him in a way no one else did. Most of it had to do with the fact that she had known him his whole life, and that she didn’t think he was crazy when he shared things with her. She knew what pained him most—she felt the same losses. She understood him, even when she didn’t agree with him. It made everything easy.  He wanted to tell Ygritte the truth, tell her what happened last night.

Jon closed his eyes for a moment and tried to forget the images from last night, God he had wanted her. He still wanted her. It had taken him all his strength to just focus on her and not plunge into her for his pleasure. He didn’t know where things stood with Sansa, maybe she wouldn’t want to be around him anymore. Still Ygritte deserved to know the truth. He loved Ygritte, maybe not the same way he did before his death, but he loved her. In his other life, he had spent almost majority of his adult life loving this girl. She was always there for him.

“Ygritte—“ Before he could speak the horn went off outside, a new guest.

When he arrived outside he found a small older man standing outside with few of his men. He had a little pointed beard on his chin. The man was most likely a Lord, Jon couldn’t tell which one.

“Lord Snow. I have heard a lot about you. It is an honor to finally meet the boy commander who commands the prestigious Night’s Watch.” The man’s voice rasped.

“And who might you be?” Jon asked reaching the courtyard.

“I am Petyr Baelish, Lord of Ha—“

Jon clenched his jaw. “Why are you here?” he cut in.

He saw the man wince before his mouth curved into a crooked smile. “I am here to see Lady Sansa. She knows I am here.”

“I don’t believe you.” _She wouldn’t_. She told him about the game this man played with her. She wouldn’t call him here.

“If you will just tell her about my arrival—“

“Leave now, before I have my men throw you out.” Jon roared. “Leave!”

“Lord Snow” he heard Podrick behind him. “Lady Sansa has been waiting for him.”

A smug smile crossed the man’s face. “With your permission Lord Snow.” 

Jon didn’t move as Littlefinger walked away. He stood there, as if he had been frozen to that spot. He was so angry, he wanted to barge into her room, asking for an explanation—but he knew he would look like a madman.

He waited for her to call him, she didn’t. He waited several hours before walking to her door, Podrick said she was having a private discussion with Lord Baelish and specifically asked not to be disturbed. He would’ve punched the boy, but he looked miserable as well. He looked apologetic as he told him not to worry, Brienne was in there with her, as was Ghost.

She had taken her dinner in private, with Littlefinger. By then Jon grew paranoid—and desperate. He stormed into her rooms, shoving Pod out of the way.

“Jon.” She gasped as she rose from her chair.

“Lord Snow. Barging into a lady’s room is not—“

“Leave.” He said coldly without moving his eyes from Sansa.

“I am not going to leave until Lady Sansa asks me to, and as you can clearly see I am still wanted here.”

Jon’s eyes blazed with fury as he turned to him. “I won’t have my men throw you out. I will cut you down myself if you don’t leave at this very moment.”

He heard Sansa suck in her breath. “Leave us.”

The man hesitated. “Sansa…are you sure?”

The fucker called her by her name. Jon gripped Longclaw, but before he could pull it out Littlefinger walked out of the room. Without a word Brienne followed.

He turned to Sansa. “What are you doing?” He demanded.

Sansa swallowed nervously. She opened her mouth to answer him, but nothing came out. After sucking in a long breath, she finally spoke. “I am leaving Jon. I am going to go back to Winterfell.”

“To the Boltons?”

“No. I am going to win it back.”

“With what army?”

She licked her lips. “The Knights of the Vale are waiting at Moat Cailin. We will ask other Northern houses to join. The Northern houses are loyal, they will help us. We can also ask my mother’s uncle, he has resurfaced.”

‘We?” Jon snorted in disdain. “You are forgiving him. After all that he has done to you?”

She shook her head. “I am not forgiving him Jon. I am using him! I want the North. I will take it back in any way I can.”

Jon knew she would take Winterfell back, history would run its course. His legs felt weak and he found himself slumping down on the chair next to him. For a long moment he said nothing.

“You will be Queen. You will be Queen in the North, and you will marry Willas Tyrell.” Jon laughed. The bitterness in his laugh shocked him. “You probably figured the last part out.” She had always been a bright girl, but King's Landing had made her much sharper. She could read people, understand the meaning behind lies. 

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I want you in my life Sansa. I want you in my life" His heart ached terribly as he said the words. "But I can’t go back with you. I don’t have it in me to fight another war. And even if I did, I would probably end up dying. If I survived, I won’t stand by and watch you marry Willas.”

He heard Sansa sniffle. She knelt down in front of him and took his hand in hers. “And I won’t stand by and watch you be with Ygritte. I am not strong enough to do that. She could be with child Jon, your child.”

“So where does that leave us?” His voice sounded terribly hollow. 

Her lips trembled as tears rolled down her beautiful face. “You will go to Essos. Get a new name, live a new life. Be happy. As for me—“ Sansa choked on her words. “Well as you know I will become a Queen, and I will marry Willas.” She forced herself to smile through her tears.

And right there and then Jon felt his heart break. He could feel it in his chest. Before this he had never known what a heart break felt like. No one even had a chance to break it, not like this. He felt the air leave his body slowly until there was nothing left.

“Why did you have to come here Sansa?” he heard his voice crack. “You should’ve just gone to Littlefinger.”

Jon pulled his hand away from hers and rose to his feet.

"Ghost with me" He roared as he stalked out of the room, not bothering to look back as she cried out his name.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for your kind words. You guys are the best! Sorry for any mistakes I might've made. I hope this chapter is not too bad :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned's girl...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly think you guys are crazy for saying such wonderful things about this. I no longer have words to thank you lovely people.

 

 

In the dim light from the fireplace Jon could see Ygritte’s face crumple, as angry tears spilled from her blue-grey eyes. He wanted to feel guilty— instead he felt nothing as she muttered curses between her sobs. It almost felt as if he was watching a stranger he had no connection to, not the love of his life. He felt strange— and empty.

He had shared a life with her, made love to her, laughed with her, cried with her. She was warm, funny and beautiful. She had been his best friend after Robb and Sam. _He loved Ygritte_. He still loved her, just not the same way. Death had ruined him and them, or maybe it was— _no_. Death ruined his ability to love this woman, a woman who deserved his love and devotion.

“I didn’t think you were the type to fuck your sister Jon Snow,” she hissed angrily at him. “You know what happens to those who fuck their sisters?”

 _Aye they are cursed._ Jon stopped himself from snorting at the thought, _I am already cursed._ “I didn’t fuck her.” Jon said bleakly. _But I would have eventually_ —he almost blurted it out _._ His need for Sansa had been too great while she was here. He knew he would not have stopped himself if it ever got that far—and it would have. Jon felt impatient to end the conversation with Ygritte—perhaps he should have chosen another time to tell her the truth, not late at night when they were both in bed. _I had no choice; she was ready to take me into her mouth_. Ygritte had shared his bed since she became ill. He knew she was better now, but pretended otherwise just so she could have him by her side. The knowledge should have saddened him, touched him, made him feel guilty for pushing her away instead he felt irritated, with himself and her. Her presence suffocated him. Her touch felt wrong and made him feel restless.

She wiped the tears off her face. “Then what happened between you guys?” He didn’t know what to tell her, or if he even wanted to tell her. Her pale fingers curled around his woolen tunic. “I told you I would kill you if you ever betrayed me,” she said through gritted teeth. “You are mine, you are supposed to be mine!” Her whole body shook as she accused him.

“I am not yours,” Jon burst out. Anger flared within him. “I am not anyone’s anymore. And kill me if you want, I will not stop you.” _There were other things he feared far more than death_. _There were things far more painful than death_.

Ygritte let go off his tunic and stared at him in horror. She knew death had ruined something between them, had she truly expected things to be the same? “I love you. She doesn’t love you. She would never love you. She left you!” Ygritte choked on her words. “I protected you. I loved you even after you abandoned me. Yet you love her over me?”

“I don’t love her.” He retorted immediately. _Not like how love is supposed to be_. If he loved her he would not have let her walk away, if she loved him she would not have left him.

 

 

Days passed before Ygritte spoke to him again. She asked when they would leave Castle Black. Despite the state of their relationship, they still shared a common goal—they wanted to get off this cold land. Jon had said _soon_. In truth, he no longer knew what he meant by soon.  There was nothing left for him in Westeros, yet he could not make himself leave, not just yet. Something was holding him back. It was not Sansa— she was gone, and he wanted to pretend she had never come to the wall.

Every morning he woke up wondering if it had all been a dream. He dreamt of her so often—maybe her time at Castle Black had also been a dream. Then he would turn his head and notice the cloak she had made for him hanging on the wooden chair, completely untouched since it was brought to him. Jon half laughed— she took his peace, stole his wolf, and left him with nothing but a stupid cloak that he did not need and a fucking letter.

He had no intentions of reading the letter. Few times he had attempted to burn it but his hand would stop on its own before he could feed it to the fire. It did not matter what she had to say in the letter; she made the decision to walk away from him and, that was all that mattered. She chose to ally herself with a man who sold her to their enemies instead of leaving with him. _And I let her go_ , _I didn’t even try to stop her_ , the thought slipped into his mind unbidden. Sansa is not a child. He had no right to stop her—there was nothing he could have said to stop her from leaving. 

She lied to him, she tricked him into believing she would go with him to Essos when all along she was planning to leave with Littlefinger. In a way she also betrayed him like the rest. He laughed as he fought against the bitterness that filled his heart, and his mind. She knew he had nothing to offer. He no longer had it in him to fight a war. She didn’t need him as a counsel either, that snake Littlefinger seemed to be enough for her. Lady Brienne was with her to protect her, and Jon had sent Ser Davos with them. Soon she will marry a very powerful man and she will have another by her side. _She had no need for him_.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“We need more men,” Sansa said staring at the sheepskin map on the table. Her voice sounded hoarse with weariness. Weeks of riding and absolutely no progress had been made. She did not know how long she could go on like this— _this is only the beginning_.  Her shoulders slumped forward as she placed her palms on the cool table for support. For a brief moment she closed her eyes, there was a weird buzzing in her head. _I need to be stronger…_

Littlefinger rose from his chair and came around the table to stand next to her. “Forget these stupid Northern men Sansa, return to the Vale with me. Marry Sweetrobin and every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright.”

As lady Arryn she could return to the North with over forty thousand men instead of the mere four thousand that came to aid Sweetrobin’s cousin. Sansa did not want to marry to gain a larger army. She especially did not want to marry Sweetrobin, who was under Littlefinger’s thumb. He gently grabbed her hand and turned it over to lightly kiss her wrist. Sansa clenched her jaw, and pulled her hand away without sparing him a glance. _She would not return to the Vale with him._

“These Northern men are my men.” They had once been her father and her brother’s bannermen. They had been loyal to her father and her brother, _but not to her_. Maybe this would have been different with Bran or Rickon by her side, but they were not here. “These men are loyal to my house.” She reminded him.

The corner of his mouth curved into a mocking grin. Both the northern houses they visited thus far had shut their doors on her. They would not lend her any men. Lady Lyanna of House Mormont, a girl of ten had questioned her identity as a Stark, after all she was still the Lady of Winterfell, Lady Bolton or maybe Lady Lannister. _Why should house Mormont risk her men so Sansa could return to a home she was already invited to_? The girl acted as if this was a domestic dispute between husband and wife. House Glover refused to go against the Boltons; they had taken Deepwood Motte from the Ironmen with Bolton men. Robbet Glover did not want to fight a war against _her husband_ and be flayed as punishment. Both houses had lost enough fighting for Robb. Both houses had lost enough because of Robb’s mistakes. To them house Stark was dead. She was no Stark to them.

Sansa felt tears sting her sleep deprived eyes—yet she did not cry. Her body tensed when she felt Littlefinger’s arm slip around her waist, and her back pressed to his body. “You look exhausted sweetling. Let me be there for you,” he whispered in her ear. His warm breath made her shudder with disgust. She had been foolish to send Brienne and Podrick away to Riverrun.  Littlefinger had kept his distance under Brienne’s watchful eyes, now she was gone and he was back to being himself.  Sansa tried to unwind his arms but they only tightened. “You must know how much I love you?” he asked, a little breathlessly.  She pulled his arm off, digging her long nails into his skin and stepped around the table.

“What do you want?” her anger made her sound breathless.

He thought about her question for a moment before taking a wary step closer. Sansa swallowed nervously as she tried to put up a brave face. Her men were all sleeping— _no_ , she did not have any men. _They were all his._

“I want your trust Sansa, and if possible your love. I failed you once, I will not do so again. I have always tried to protect you— from the Lannisters, the Tyrells, your aunt Lysa. I am willing to wage a war for you Sansa. Tell me, has anyone else ever done that for you?”

 _No they had not_. Sansa felt hollowed out as his mouth twisted into the sick grin that she had once found intriguing. He had somehow turned this around, and once again she felt she was at his mercy. He cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. “You need me Sansa. I will take back the North for you, and then I will help you keep it. I will always be by your side.” He declared passionately.

One moment she felt Littlefinger’s sour lips on hers, his tongue trying to pry her lips open— the next moment she heard him scream and fall to the floor with a loud thud. The white wolf snarled silently as he climbed over the man’s body, suffocating him with his weight. 

Littlefinger cried out in pain as his fingers clasped around his bleeding arm. For a brief moment Sansa could not find the ability to speak. “Get this beast off—“ Littlefinger whimpered. Ghost’s nail must have dug into his skin. 

 _I could let Ghost finish him_ Sansa thought, _but then I would have no ally_. “Ghost, leave him.” She noticed the wolf’s ears perk up but he did not budge from his position, instead he lowered his head toward the man. _Please_ , she heard Littlefinger beg. He started to turn pale from fear. Sansa bit into the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling. Kneeling down, she scratched Ghost’s shiny coat. “Get down Ghost. I am safe.”

The wolf’s red eyes blazed with fury as he bared his teeth. _He was angry_. Sansa felt a painful lump in her throat. Summer had protected Bran, Nymeria had protected Arya. According to Jon, Ghost had often protected him and now he was protecting her. Lady never had a chance to protect her. Sansa continued to run her fingers through his fur. “He cannot hurt me anymore. You can let go now,” her voice incredibly soft as if she was speaking to a child. “Let go Ghost.”

Ghost slowly moved back, and Littlefinger cried out in relief. This was the first time she had ever seen him look so afraid. She used to think he was one of the bravest men, afraid of no one. The sight of him made her want to laugh.

“That beast needs to be put to its death.” He grumbled. Maybe she should let Ghost finish him—but then the Knights of the Vale will seek answers.

She did not bother coming to his aid when he struggled to get off the floor. She ignored him when he left the room. Her attention was focused on Ghost, her new guard. She remembered the day they had all gotten their wolves, Ghost had been the runt of the litter. She had thought the tiny thing did not belong with them, just like his master. And now he was here, protecting her, instead of protecting Jon. Sansa wiped the tears off her cheeks as she smiled at the animal. It had gone back to sleep.

She had not known that Ghost had followed them out of Castle Black until they headed for Bear Island. She told him to return, though only half-heartedly if Sansa had to be honest. She did not want to be parted from Ghost. The wolf was a piece of Jon—she couldn’t keep Jon, she wanted to keep Ghost.

“Ghost you don’t want to go to Essos, do you?” Sansa sat down on the most comfortable bed the inn had provided, it was small and it creaked under her weight.  Ghost remained curled up by her feet, without making any noise. _No you don’t._

Sansa lied down on the bed, exhausted.

_Jon._

He came to her dream almost every night—he said sweet words, made her laugh as if nothing had ever gone wrong in her world. In those dreams, he kissed her everywhere, in places no other lips had ever kissed before. Instead of feeling soiled, she felt cherished under his lips. He stayed with her all night, and evaporated at the first sunlight. The first few days Sansa had wept after opening her eyes. In those moments, she had longed for Jon so desperately that she almost ran back to Castle Black.

She knew now that Jon was her peace, her solace. She wanted to be with him even if it meant she had to watch him be with another, even if it meant not seeing Winterfell ever again.

After some time she would remember she needed Winterfell for Arya, Bran and Rickon. She would never find them again if she did not have Winterfell. Jon had the choice to join her and he decided against it. He told her he would go wherever she goes, but that had been a lie. Soon she found herself angry at him, it was easier that way. Anger lent her the strength to get up from bed every day.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 _If I win Torghen Flint and Hugo Wull, the rest will follow_. She did not journey to the mountains to leave empty–handed. She took in a long breath and then cleared her throat as she walked up to the man with the biggest belly she had ever seen. “Lord Wull—“ Sansa started

“I am no lord girl.” The man interrupted before she even got two words out. “Why are you here with these men?” he roared.

Sansa’s heart beat in her ears, she was so nervous. She almost turned back to Littlefinger for support. _No, these are my people, I must be the one to do this_. “I need an army to take back Winterfell.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, “you already have Winterfell.”

“The Boltons have Winterfell.”

“Last I heard you were a Bolton.”

Sansa's nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists. By now, she had heard this over a hundred times, yet every time someone called her Lady Bolton it felt like a new wound. “ _I AM A STARK!_ I will always be a Stark. I did what I had to in order to survive. Yes I married that monster Bolton, before that I married a Lannister. I even declared my father, and brother traitors so the Lannister wouldn’t behead me like my father. I did everything I had to do to survive but I am a Stark. I will not have anyone question that.” She tried to still her heaving breath as anger boiled within her. She ground her teeth. “I am Ned Stark’s daughter and I am asking you to give me your men so I can take my home back. You swore an oath to my family—”

“Where did you find him?” Sansa’s brow drew together in confusion. It took a moment to realize he was talking about Ghost.

“He is Jon—he is my brother’s direwolf.” It felt odd to refer to Jon as her brother, _he is not my brother_.

“Your brother?”

“Her _bastard_ half-brother my lord.” Littlefinger offered from behind her. His answer seemed to irritate Wull, or maybe it was just the man who he found irritating.

“How many of these men do you have?”

“Four thousand.”

Wull snorted. “You are going to need far more than four thousand prancing southron jackanapes to beat the Boltons and all the other fucking Northern houses that side with them.”

“How many men can you give me?”

He thought for a moment and gave her an apologetic smile. “Less than three thousand.”

That is not enough, but Sansa’s heart leapt at her first victory.  

“How can you be certain the other clans will follow her?” Littefinger unpleasantly rasped.

The man shot him a sharp glare. “Ned’s girl stands before us. They will die fighting for her.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Big Bucket Wull had been right, the Flints, Norreys, Liddles, Burleys, Haclays, Knotts and thirty three other clans came to fight for Ned’s girl. It no longer mattered to them who she had married, who she had foolishly loved. For so long people had used her because she was her father’s daughter, she could hardly believe this sudden change.

As happy as Sansa was about the mountain clans joining her, she was still desperate for more men. These men were not nearly enough; she would need a much larger army to reclaim Winterfell and to keep it afterwards. The Boltons were not her only enemy— a much bigger enemy will come for her from the south. Littlefinger’s simple solution rang through her head. _No, no I will not marry Sweetrobin_ — _he is my cousin, already an ally_. She thought of the Tyrells. Since she left King’s Landing the rift between Cersei Lannister and Margaery Tyrell had worsened. Margaery was now a prisoner of the radical High Septon known as the High Sparrow. Maybe an alliance with the Tyrells would not be impossible…

Sansa sighed as she stared out the window—nothing but magical white mountains. She didn’t know how much longer she would stay here. It seemed as if every day she grew more restless, more afraid. Had Robb been afraid? Robb was their father’s heir, he had learned everything from their father—she had learned nothing of this sort. She heard Robb had gathered twenty thousand men in days. Two moons had passed and she had less than seven thousand men. Robb also had her wise mother to guide him. Sansa closed her eyes briefly, trying to picture the two of them—tears escaped her closed lids as the dull ache in her heart grew. _I miss them so much_.  

She opened her eyes when she heard Ghost restlessly move around her. He went to the door and stood on his hind legs, ruining the wooden thing with his scratches. _Something was wrong_.

Sansa stroked his warm fur, trying to calm him. “Ghost what is it?” she asked softly as she opened the door for him. The direwolf slid past her, out to the hallway and then waited for her to follow. “Ghost it is too cold in the mountains. I do not want to go outside right now.” In response the direwolf silently bared his fangs before trotting away from her. She could let him go on his own, no she was still afraid Littlefinger would somehow try to harm him. Sansa wrapped the fur around her tighter and tried to catch up to the wolf.

Sansa ignored the men on her way out, they were as puzzled by her action as she was of Ghost’s. Once outside Ghost ran ahead. “Ghost!” Sansa yelled. “Stop!” The wolf stopped and turned around to look at her. “You can’t go out at the moment. It is too cold Ghost, I can’t come with you.” She wrapped her arms over her body and tried to stop herself from shaking. For a moment it seemed as if Ghost would listen but then he ran off. “Ghost stop!” Sansa cried out behind him. “Don’t go…”

_It was too late. He was gone._

 

 

 

The hour was well past midnight and Sansa was still pacing around in her room. Ghost had not returned, Lady would have never done this to her. Lady was good— _but so was Ghost_. Sansa bit her lip to stop herself from crying like a helpless idiot. She hoped he was not harmed.

“He is a wild beast Sansa, he is not meant to be your pet.” Sansa ignored Littlefinger’s comment. After a moment or two he rose from his seat and walked up to Sansa. “He is just a wolf, you have men to protect you now.” He said with a sly grin. Sansa’s lips parted— _this is why he was here so late at night, because Ghost wasn’t here_.

He was standing too close to her now. “Lord Baelish,” Sansa said sharply. It was meant to be a warning, but it seemed to mean nothing to him.

He touched her face with one hand as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are my dear Sansa?” his voice was huskier than usual. Such compliments would have made her blush once, now they made her want to gag.

“Let me go or I shall scream.” Her voice was even and cold.

It was as if he was in a trance, not hearing her. He had once said a man could drown in her eyes, at the moment it seemed as if he had drowned in them. She closed her eyes and looked away, trying to break the trance. “I would do anything for you.” He whispered against her throat. “Someday I will take the throne Sansa, and then you will be my beautiful queen.” His arm tightened around her waist as she struggled to free herself.

He was much stronger than her. “Let me go—” Her voice cracked. “Or I will truly scream.”

Before she could scream there was loud knock on her door. “M’lady your wolf has returned.”

Sansa pushed Littlefinger out of the way, sending him couple of steps back. Then she ran out of the room. Within minutes she found herself in the hall. Ghost leapt towards her, almost knocking her to the ground with his weight. She went down on one knee and put her arm around the direwolf as he licked her face. “I am so angry at you Ghost.” She sobbed. “I told you not to go.”

Someone walked towards her. “He came to get us.” A girl said.

Sansa looked up and for a moment she was sure she would pass out again—but she didn’t. “ _Arya…_ ” She thought she said her name—yet no sound escaped her lips. This girl that stood in front of her looked like her sister Arya, except she was taller, older, her cold eyes lacked the life her sister was known for—but this was Arya. Brienne and Podrick stood behind her with small smiles on their faces.

“You look like mother.” Her voice showed no emotion, but her eyes glistened as she looked down at Sansa. “For a second I thought I was looking at mother.”

Sansa wanted to get up and embrace her sister but her legs gave out beneath her. She found herself seated on the cold wooden floor, shaking, and sobbing. Now and then she laughed like a mad woman. _She had her sister back!_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After eating Sansa informed her she would be sleeping in Sansa’s bed—Arya couldn’t remember the last time they had shared a bed—when they were little girls.

“I need a bath.”

“At this hour?” Sansa seemed shocked.

Arya shrugged lazily. “I smell rotten. I don’t think you can stomach the smell of me.”

A small pained, guilty expression seemed to flit across her beautiful face—Sansa had always been beautiful, but nothing could be compared to her sister’s beauty now. She stepped closer to Arya and sniffed the air. “You smell horrid, but I am willing to hold you all night without complaining about the smell,” Sansa said, smiling softly.

No one had smiled at her like that since father. Arya ignored the painful lump in her throat. “Well I _want_ a bath.”

Soon an iron tub was brought to Sansa’s room and placed by the large fire. The sight of steaming water nearly brought tears to Arya’s eyes. Sansa closed the door after the men left.

“You are going to stay here?” Arya asked nervously.

Sansa smiled as she shed her cloak. “I will help you bath.”

Arya almost protested, she didn’t need help bathing. She had lived too long without such luxuries—but Sansa seemed so eager to help her that she remained silent. Her shoulders rose in a shrug. “Turn around until I am inside.” She quickly stripped out of her filthy clothes. She couldn't stop herself from sighing when her body sank into the hot scented water. Sansa had dropped some stinky-sweet stuff in the water that smelled like flowers, but she couldn't find it in her to complain at the moment— it was intoxicating. "You may turn around."

Sansa grabbed a bristle brush and knelt down to scrub her back. “Move forward.” She gasped when she lifted Arya’s hair and saw the scars on her back. “Who did this to you?” she stuttered. 

“The Waif. When I was training to become one of the faceless men in Braavos” She waited for Sansa to start scrubbing her back. The scars were probably too ugly for Sansa to look at. “Leave it Sansa. I can do it myself. These scars are hideous.”

Sansa let out a sharp breath and rose to her feet, then she proceeded to take off her clothes until she was clad in nothing but her small clothes. She turned her back to Arya. The light from the fireplace danced across her pale scarred back, painting her orange. There were long streaks across her back, her calves, some silver, some pink. Someone had even carved a word on her back, she could not read it from there but she had a suspicion it said _Ramsay_. _They had tortured her like this?_ Arya heaved up a great sob and Sansa turned around. She put her shift back on as Arya screwed her eyes shut. She did not want to meet Sansa's eyes at the moment. Her chest shuddered and she felt her inside burn with anger.

Sansa remained silent as she dropped to her knees. She gently scrubbed her back, rubbing certain areas with extra force. “I want to kill them all” Arya muttered through gritted teeth.

After a short moment she replied, “we _will_. First we take Winterfell, and then we will kill them all.”


End file.
